


red rust on my spark

by Eisengrave, selwyn



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-24 23:57:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 45,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12023817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eisengrave/pseuds/Eisengrave, https://archiveofourown.org/users/selwyn/pseuds/selwyn
Summary: It was a slagshow that Pharma had invited himself to, and everyone knew itThe final nail in the coffin of Pharma’s patience were the missing supply ships and the small detail of who made this desolate, snowy rock their home-base.Enough was enough.[Or, Pharma gets away with murder]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's time for more filth, children.

Everything was quiet now. Had been, for hours, maybe days. Pharma existed in a vacuum within the quarantine chamber, and his self-imposed exile was beginning to grow tedious. Every tick of a distant machine failing made him twitch. Every sliver of new air, cycled in through the external conditioning unit had his plating shiver. 

The noise of life and a busy medical station had died away. Mostly because the life had died away, at the hands of the very medic who ran Delphi. 

Ah yes, that would be Pharma, chief medical officer of a crappy backwater station, under-supplied, forgotten, abandoned, in service to a mining facility populated by miserable mecha who were already close to death.

How had his stellar career ended him here? The war, of course. Pharma knew he’d been living the high life, back on Cybertron, back in the Golden Age. And it should have stayed that way, had there been an ounce of competence in the governing body. There hadn’t, and everything crumbled apart. Their world, their home, battle-scarred and desolate. Pharma’s livelihood was not shattered, but became so essential that it was expected of him to perform miracles.

How he resented every actor in the civil war, simply for the damages caused to him. Forced from his lovely station and exalted status, Pharma became a medic like any other, rubbing shoulders with mecha who could barely amputate a limb and replace a piece of armor, let alone complete complicated procedures. Pharma, forced into lesser works for sheer lack of personnel in their field.

It was despicable and unfair.

But he’d put on a brave face and a bleeding spark and continued, despite the shortcomings of all around him. He’d even accepted a post away from Cybertron; mostly because it had sounded like an improvement. And potentially a way to save his plummeting career. He’d have his own station and staff. A cushy position in hard times, so he accepted.

He’d been so very wrong, it was laughable. The station was barely functional; the staff hard-headed and below his social graces. Even former enemies were among those he was supposed to trust. It was a slagshow and everyone knew it.

The final nail in the coffin of Pharma’s patience were the missing supply ships and the small detail of who made this desolate, snowy rock their home-base.

Enough was enough.

 

The AC clicked again and Pharma ruffled his wings against the burst of fresh, cold air. How much longer until his special guest would come find him here? It had been days, hadn’t it? Weeks, since his last delivery. Pharma calculated the hours until his hated enemy, his blackmailer and oppressor, would run out of wear on his current cog; Tarn was two days late. Had he stopped for another medic to perform some maintenance? Doubtful...but possible. Pharma would suppress the flare of intense jealousy, placating himself with the knowledge that he alone was the best in the field; otherwise, Tarn would not have come to an agreement with him.

Maybe the beast was simply running one of his murderous errands. Pharma didn’t care to know the details of that either as he lingered in the chamber, carving small numbers into the glass with his soldering iron. Soon. He’d be here soon.

 

-x-

 

The  _ Peaceful Tyranny _ hovered over the ice plains of Messatine like a vast bird of prey, the eyes of its symbol glaring at the twin suns above as it lowered slowly. Loose snow and ice chips alike were blown away with harsh gusts of propellant. With a whine of its impulse engines, it came to a rest amid the ice dunes on long, thick supports that sprouted from its undersides.

Kaon underwent the rest of the docking procedure under Tarn’s watchful gaze, quickly checking that the engines, coolers, and drives were all in the optimal range and nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Scanners reported all clear and conditions outside were as usual - deathly cold.

“We’re good to go,” Kaon reported dutifully, prompting the ecstatic burst of energy from his unit-mates as they stood, eager to stretch their legs. A wave from Tarn gave them the leave to go down and pry open the iced-in gates of their Messatine base for another extended stay. No one asked what Tarn was going to do.

He waited until everyone filed out of the bridge before moving. As Kaon’s red helm disappeared through the maw of the boarding ramp, Tarn took his time to savor the opening moments before his showing. He knew the path to Delphi by spark and it was always satisfying to bide his time and imagine what new rigors Pharma had put himself through this time to meet his quota. He enjoyed a few spins of his cog as he did so, feeling each joint and plate slide into place deliciously, and pictured Pharma’s pale, drawn face begging him for mercy.

“I tried to make it,” he might say, “please, don’t kill me!”

“Why should I?” he would reply. In this vision, Tarn stood over Pharma, patient and indulgent as he imagined what new horrors he might enact upon his favorite victim.

“I’ll do anything!”

Ah, yes. That was a good vision to keep in his mind’s eye as he reclined in his personal refresher, stroking his spike to a lazy, pleasing overload. It was enough to propel him out of the ship as well, in search of the real thing in lieu of a pleasant fantasy. He drove away from his unit in alt-mode, spraying snow behind him as he went.

Delphi came into view a scant hour later. In that time, Tarn indulged himself with a few more spins of his cog just to get the edge going and wondered how he might play with Pharma this round. He was eager for some already - the last kill had taken place not too far from Messatine and he was still feeling the remnant flush of nuke in his system. He wanted to hurt Pharma as much as he wanted to frag him, and a few glorious images of Pharma’s mouth around his spike spurred him to go faster.

Delphi was as usual. There were no medics around it, but Tarn didn’t care for these details. 

Pharma should be at the drop-off point already. Sometimes he was late, however, and Tarn delighted in extracting an additional toll for that, so he didn’t mind it too much. The later he was, the more of a reason he had to brutalize the medic.

However, when a ten minutes wait transformed into two hours, Tarn began to grow antsy. He called Pharma first, then called Delphi. Both were static and Tarn’s patience frayed as he paced around the point. The nuke in him could change his moods from lust to violence within a coin throw, and Tarn’s pleasant fantasies of fragging Pharma turned into bloodier visions of tearing him from limb to limb and feasting on the energon that spilled out.

When his wait became a whopping four hours, longer than any other, Tarn went to Delphi itself in a storm of temper. Pharma had never taken so long, even during the times that Tarn made him fly out in blizzards. For that offense, Tarn was going to tear him a  _ new hole _ and frag  _ that _ .

The double doors of Delphi were thrown off their hinges by two well-placed shots from his fusion cannons. Tarn emerged from the destruction, wreathed in smoke and ice, and came upon a scene of carnage.

Mecha lay around, appearing as if their innards had become rust and flowed out their orifices. They lay over each other, apparently having expired in their last desperate attempt to leave the clinic, and had matching expressions of agony and horror. Tarn, disaffected, scanned the dead for any sign of the living or a medic.

None matched his criteria, so he contemptuously kicked one such body aside and moved deeper into the clinic. The carnage continued, with more dead bodies of patients and medics alike sprawled in dried pools of their own waste.

What had caused this? Tarn examined one briefly and determined that it was no soldier’s work that he knew of - there were no Decepticon nor Autobot marks from what he could make out, nor anything that might belong to the xenos that called themselves enemies of mechanisms. It was also not anything like betrayal. It was as if everyone here had dropped altogether of a disease.

He was careful to not touch the crusted trails of rust. Common sense dictated that he leave altogether, but Tarn wanted to find something. Some _ one _ . His anger turned into a curious kind of interest and Tarn had always liked solving a puzzle.

He passed through other wards, crossed a small gallery, and checked Pharma’s office. It was also empty. That only left the disease center on the uppermost level.

Before he left, he brushed his servos over the surface of Pharma’s desk, casually turned a few pictures over or readjusted their placement in a way he knew would irk Pharma. Some of the placards on the wall, he knocked off and listened to shatter as he walked out.

The door to the disease center was open. His scanner told him there was one lifesign left in the gray swathes that was Delphi, and Tarn had a suspicion of who it would be.

As he pushed the door open wider to accommodate his bulk, he found his target. Pharma, sitting pretty in a little glass box like a present, pristine as if Tarn hadn’t waded through the corpses of his staff and patients just a level below.

“Pharma,” he said, helm tilted to the side, “ _ what _ have you gotten yourself into now?”

 

The far-off noises of someone entering the station had Pharma perk up in his self-imposed exile. The quarantine chamber wasn’t designed as a prison, but it also couldn’t be opened from the inside.

There’d been two eventualities that Pharma planned for when he decided to stage this drastic and dramatic end to the Delphi clinic. One, high command would come looking after weeks of missing communication. In that case, they’d find the distraught chief medical officer, hysterical and agonizing over his own shortcomings in saving his staff and patients.

The second option was far more likely and required less acting; Tarn would come looking for his fix, and find everything he held over Pharma’s helm in threat wasted away. In which case, the quarantine chamber was a pretty little trap. Everything in Delphi was lined with Red Rust by now. It didn’t stop being contagious, just because its victims were strewn about the place, motion and lifeless. It was such a beautiful little thing, designed by Pharma’s depth of knowledge, a tiny smidgen of it on external plating was enough to infect.

If Tarn proved to be careful, he wouldn’t touch any of the corpses. Tarn possessed a measure of intelligence and he may yet value his worthless life. But that was fine too. Pharma was prepared for all eventualities, and when Tarn’s dark bulk filled the hallway of the greater room the chamber was contained in, Pharma was ready. Calm, prepared. It would take Tarn a while to get in, unless he discharged more of that fusion cannon. Precious time, in which Pharma could talk a great game.

It wasn’t fear that compelled him to act surprised, but the deep and deafening desire to see Tarn suffer, just as he had at the mech’s servos.

The chamber’s isolating walls would make it impossible for his voice to be heard. Pharma’s wide optics and his back flattened to the opposite wall would have to paint the picture for Tarn.

 

No reaction? He must not hear him. Tarn prowled forward slowly, enjoying the sight of Pharma like the pinned little creature he was. The glass barrier was nothing to him - Pharma should realize that, right? He wasn’t stupid enough to think that Tarn could be stopped by anything that wasn’t at least ten mecha thick and tougher than ununtrium.

He drew closer to the box and examined it. It didn’t seem special in any way - no safeguards, no extra barriers, nor any traps. It seemed to be just that - a box.

He rapped a knuckle against it experimentally. It sounded like glass.

He curled his servo into a fist and struck it once. It held.

Quarantine glass, then. Pharma must have placed himself inside, but why would he run when he could have probably cured it? Tarn didn’t doubt his ability to perform miracles on demand. A simple disease would not get the better of Pharma.

It must be something else. Unless this disease appeared out of nowhere and struck so quickly that it overwhelmed the clinic within moments, something that was virtually impossible in the wild… unless you were a brilliant medic who could  _ do _ something like that.

His scar crinkled under his mask as Tarn grinned. 

_ You vicious little  _ **_beast_ ** _ … _

 

Pharma must have done it. Why, he did not know. But that was the only explanation for why his little viper was safe and sound inside his little prison while the clinic was in shambles below.

He made a gesture to tell Pharma to back away. His other arm raised to aim his fusion cannons at one corner, to impact all three sides in one burst shot.

__

Of course Tarn would shoot the quarantine chamber. It was just like the vile and brutal Decepticon to have no respect for anything, especially not equipment in a clinic. Well, Pharma cared little for Delphi at this point, it was a graveyard for all mecha under his care right now. And it had been too quiet for too long. 

He did not want to be in Tarn’s possession. Nothing good or profitable would come of it, but it was also inevitable, knowing the mech’s greed and lust for things beyond his reach. But Pharma was so well-prepared, it was hard to keep the smile from his face. He stood back, crushing himself into a corner so that he might avoid the blast and the inevitable shattered safety glass.

Tarn could have him, alright. He could pluck him from the chamber like a thorny rose, and he’d choke on the poison on each sharp tip.

__

The glass came down like a miniature hail fall. As it tinkled and shattered into more pieces around his feet, Tarn slowly lowered his arm as he looked towards Pharma. He was in a little corner, small and pretty, and Tarn shook himself once to get rid of the glass on him before slowly advancing. Glass was ground to powder under his weight as he approached and crouched before Pharma.

“Sweet thing,” he crooned mockingly as he took hold of Pharma’s chin and gave him a small shake. “What did you do?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

A shift brought the fusion cannon to rest against his chest, aimed up at his face. “You did this.”

 

The cannon was still uncomfortably warm against his cockpit, but Pharma had endured worse from Tarn. He met his gaze, even if he wanted to wilt away from the twin embers Tarn called optics. 

“You can’t prove that.”

Mild defiance was one of Tarn’s key turn-ons, and Pharma knew how to play with those. Each of their encounters ended painfully for him, but they were also opportunities for him to study this monstrosity. Tarn struggled with desires he couldn’t contain, just as much as he did with his stupid addiction to Nuke and transforming. He was a helpless monster, entirely subject to his whims. Pharma would free him of the burden of life, sooner or later. All he needed to do, right now, is have Tarn take him along, away from the icy hells of Messatine. Or at least, far from the husk of Delphi and the still mine.

“No one can prove that.”

 

“I don’t have to. I  _ know _ you.” As if Tarn needed any kind of proof to know what sort of snake Pharma was. There was only one person who could possibly be blamed for this, but Tarn didn’t care enough to investigate the matter deeper. “There’s only one person in this scrapheap smart enough to do something like this.”

He let go of Pharma’s chin and thrust his helm into his neck instead. Tarn carelessly rubbed the sharp edges of his mask against Pharma’s cheek and shoulders as he inhaled deeply, attention more on his neglected desires than what insanity Pharma hatched here.

“Aren’t Autobots supposed to be  _ good _ and  _ caring _ ?” he asked as his servos went down to squeeze Pharma’s thighs. “And here I find you, missing quota, surrounded by the dead in your little box, telling me you’re  _ innocent _ .”

 

Tarn’s carnal desire for him only seemed all the more ramped up by the devastation surrounding them. But this was good, Pharma mused, because the longer they lingered here, the greater the chance of infection. Especially now that Tarn had destroyed the protective glass. Good. Let him play in his own destruction. Pharma had all the time in the world now.

“I guess I am a  _ bad _ Autobot then,” he whispered, leaning his face away from the mask poking his derma. Tarn was like a cyberhound in heat, sniffing, touching, forcing his presence unto the medic. Vile creature.

 

“I suppose you are.” Pharma was being unusually easy this time around. There was his mouth, as per usual, but he wasn’t even fighting or negotiating for a way out. Tarn wanted to think that he’d accepted his fate, but he doubted it. Something else was going on.

Again, his eternal struggle; should he find out more or take advantage of this unusual pliancy? Tarn pressed Pharma against the glass, feeling him up as he thought. “How contagious is it?” he asked instead. Again, common sense railed that he  _ really _ ought to leave the scene and avoid his own contamination. But common sense could sit down now that he had Pharma in his servos.

 

Ah. There was that flicker of intellect in Tarn that Pharma both despised and encouraged. It would never measure up to his own, of course, but it had to be carefully handled. A suspicious Tarn could potentially resist his urges, and that would ruin Pharma’s delicate plan. He couldn’t have that.

Being pressed into glass was unpleasant and Pharma could feel it scratch into his paint and plating. Finally, he resisted the firm hold, wingtips fluttering to keep away from the ground that Tarn was pressing him to.

“Touch only.”

Pharma found that the truth could be trimmed as he needed it to be, and that made lying all the easier. It was true, Red Rust was contagious via touch of fluids from an infected mech. But that didn’t even begin to cover the symptoms and possibilities of his beautiful disease.

“I no longer  _ require _ the terms of our arrangement.”

 

The way those little wings fluttered as Pharma reacted to the servo inexorably pushing him down was almost reason enough to throw him down right there and ravish him. Tarn held fast in the face of his desire, however, and peered at Pharma with the faintest glimmer of genuine suspicion in him.

“You would not do this against your own clinic,” he surmised, “not after everything you did to save it. Unless you thought it was a mercy kill? No, you would kill yourself too if you did that. You aren’t that  _ generous  _ either. So it can only be against  _ me _ .”

Contagious via touch. Tarn had touched them, hadn’t he? Would those brief moments of contact be enough to pass the disease along to him? What were its symptoms, if so? Tarn felt no urge to start vomiting up his own internals, so he couldn’t quite be sure.

“A little disease concocted just to kill me? Pharma, my dear doctor, you do too _ much _ .”

 

Pharma stared up at him. For a moment, he was terrified. Terrified that Tarn had understood that this was all a courtship of his death, a grand display meant to entice and kill him.

And then, the notion that all of it had been for nothing struck Pharma as bizarrely funny. Would his life amount to so little that he couldn’t manage to kill just the one Decepticon that personally plagued him?

A laugh escaped him, a giggle to be precise. Oh, Tarn. Thought himself so dear and important that all of it was for him. It was stupidly arrogant and Pharma could spit on the very notion. Some of this was for Tarn. Some of it was for Prowl, to one day discover and agonize over, if he had any decency left in his frame.

And all of it was for Pharma. To finally be free of what life had tried to shackle to his wings, to keep him from the sky.

“Really?  _ Really _ Tarn, you think too much of yourself,” there was little sense in playing coy now, Tarn would respond with wrath or lust or both, whatever Pharma did, “I do have other concerns in life, you know. This is clean. This is...final. Delphi was holding me back, and now it’s gone. If anyone comes looking for me, they won’t last for long. Not long enough to investigate what happened here. This is salvation, and you’re trying to steal it for yourself. No, no this is far more important to be just for _ you _ .”

 

“Salvation?” Tarn wanted to laugh at the notion. “What salvation? You will be stuck on Messatine regardless, surrounded by the dead. You have no way to fly my ship and no Autobot will come for you. Do you want to know why, Pharma?”

His claws dug in slowly. “Nobody  _ cares _ , my dear doctor. You are  _ nothing _ . The only person who will  _ ever _ note your achievement here will be me and nobody else, because they  _ all forgot you _ .”

Tarn lifted him up. Pinned against the glass by Tarn’s bulk, Pharma followed along. He pushed his way between his legs, took his favorite position - with Pharma helpless and Tarn savoring it. He grabbed his aft while one servo raked down the front of his cockpit, all while Tarn snarled into his face, “It  _ is _ for me, because I’m the only one who wants someone like  _ you _ .”

 

Tarn’s efforts to degrade him were generous, but ultimately fell on deaf audials. Pharma had a plan for the future, and he knew Tarn was not the only one with use for a talented mech like him. Of course, getting off of Messatine was difficult, but it wasn’t impossible. He could fly high enough to emit a signal to the trading routes, and then barter his passage from there. All of these things had run by Pharma’s mind as possibilities, and he’d already done worse than use his body for currency.

Tarn was just a large bump in the way that he’d have to take care of. And only in the best way he knew how. Pharma bit his lip, turbine whining in the familiar way of him trying to disguise sharply tilted emotions. This was how he usually lost their exchanges, right before Tarn took his trophy in form of fragging and beating him.

“You didn’t forget.”

_ And I will be your undoing. _

 

“I never will,” he promised. Tarn was feeling oddly delighted by what happened, however, because it had been such a  _ Pharma _ thing to do. It’d been brilliant in its execution, near-flawless with how it worked, and Tarn felt that warranted a reward, regardless of what Pharma’s opinion on it might be.

As Pharma’s turbines whined with distress, Tarn stroked his smooth plating and let himself enjoy the fine contours of it. Yes, he was feeling kind this time around, even a little impressed. It had been meant to kill him, certainly, but given that failed, he could overlook that. It wasn’t as if Pharma shouldn’t try, after all. He expected it, perhaps.

“ **After all, you belong to me** .” Tarn’s voice dropped and thunder in the shape of words came out instead. Pharma was intimately familiar with his talent and all the ways it could be used; now, he wanted it to pour desire into Pharma until he was bursting with it. It was tempting to let his spike out, but Tarn could wait a little.

“ **You are** **_better_ ** **like this** .”

 

Nothing but a moan could be his answer from Pharma. Here was the familiar thrall of Tarn’s cruel talent, put to use in the most invasive of ways. The jet in his grasp writhed as if to escape its tantalizing lure, but there was no escape for Pharma. He knew that, Tarn knew that he knew, and they both continued on with the ritual. It was just that, at this point. A ritual that Tarn grew addicted to, and one that Pharma deconstructed his very existence around. The interfacing would come, whenever the heavy Decepticon chose, and Pharma was going to do his best to act as if he didn’t look forward to it until then.

He did. Tarn’s spike, despite the rest of him, was excellent. Thick and obscene, it would spread and fill him in ways that Pharma never imagined himself to like. It would do unspeakable things as he’d writhe around in Tarn’s claws, a bird trapped by a predator when really, the predator was being spun into his web.

It was useful and pleasant, the carnal side of Tarn’s deranged desires. And in this case, it would be Pharma’s sweet victory, because the infection was unavoidable with any exchange of fluids. But Tarn’s suspicions had to be washed away firmly first.

“I’m _ too good _ for you,” he panted, just barely keeping himself from whispering it in a loving moan. That voice was very potent, and his panel was already soaked.

 

“ **Then why are you here** ?  **You** **_like_ ** **it** .” It was always so beautiful to watch Pharma snap under his power and become anything Tarn wanted him to be. He could easily twist this around, turn that pleasure into pain, and make Pharma howl for a different reason, but Tarn wanted to watch him. He wanted to  _ hear _ him.

Like this, they could almost be mistaken for lovers. They both held each other tightly while Tarn rocked into Pharma, rubbing his plating against Pharma’s while Pharma heated up quickly. Pharma was even relatively unscathed - he suffered none of his usual injuries from their meetings. A benefit of impressing Tarn.

Into his audial, Tarn continued to purr lust into Pharma. “ **Maybe I should take you with me right now. No one here will protest** .”

 

That was the plan, and Tarn was executing his part beautifully. Pharma congratulated himself on his flawless planning. He deserved this outpour of pleasure and every subsequent, near-gentle interface that Tarn may be capable of. Depending on how long it took him to spread the Red Rust around his frame, of course.

Pharma’s legs were loosely wrapped around the tankformer, his arms rested on Tarn’s treads and no part of him looked to be resisting in the slightest. 

“You should leave me here. I don’t want to be near you,  _ Decepticon _ .” Pharma purred in turn, optics hazy with Tarn’s talent and the influence of his rising charge.

 

“ **You’re too good to waste** .” Tarn wedged his claws in between the minute openings of Pharma’s plating and traced the seams there, feeling out the small grooves and whorls of his protoform underneath. He took his sweet time with this, choosing to familiarize himself with Pharma again. He was intoxicating up close, spark-achingly beautiful and so, so wicked underneath that facade. Tarn wanted to keep pushing him and see what fantastic conflagration Pharma might make next, but he was simultaneously too impatient for it. He wanted him  _ now _ .

Had Tarn more presence of mind to wait, he might have paid more attention to Pharma’s wings and the sensors in his seams, but he had waited long enough. He could do all of that once he was sated - first, he wanted to sink his teeth into the thickest part of his desire.

He stroked the underside of Pharma’s thighs then, followed the dip into the inner part where experience reminded him of the many,  _ many _ good times he had here. His claws ran over the outer cover of Pharma’s panel, light enough to only tickle. Tarn had done many things to this piece of metal - ripped it off, rut his spike into it, teased enough that Pharma gave up, and many more besides.

“ **So hot already… you really have no shame, do you** ?”

 

“I know to choose my battles, Tarn,” Pharma was well aware of what Tarn had done to him, countless times before. The panel was mere modesty plating at this point, and he’d replaced it several times thanks to the brutal nature of this hated assailant of his.

This time, the thin sheet of metal was already firmly heated and barely concealing the aching need to be released. But Pharma would keep it there, would keep the annoying barrier between the claws, the spike, and Tarn’s gaze and his perfect, velvety valve, because Tarn needed to demand it to open. It was part of the ritual, no matter how eager both of them could become.

Long gone were the days when Pharma felt shame, remorse, or even empathy. Messatine’s cold grasp had strangled those weak instincts right out of him, until Pharma saw what truly mattered. Only he himself.

“Everyone’s been dead for  _ days _ .”

 

“ **You must have been so neglected** ,” Tarn said in faux sympathy. He enjoyed the heat playing on his fingers, because it was all symbolic of how readily Pharma had given up in the end. His tears and pleas were sadly diminished, but Tarn could find new delight in this different, changed Pharma who spread his legs readily and exchanged barbs with him as he did.

“Open,” he demanded as his spike reminded him that Tarn couldn’t wait  _ all _ day. His voice dropped back into his normal ranges as Tarn pushed against Pharma, running his plating against his and leaving unsightly gashes of purple on his otherwise perfect finish. His own panel slipped back and Tarn thrust into Pharma. With no valve to push towards, his spike slipped between Pharma’s thigh and hip, using the tight space there to sate Tarn for now.

 

What a deranged animal Tarn was. He demanded entry and couldn’t contain himself for even a second longer, rutting against Pharma in any way he could. Really, Tarn was lucky Pharma had taken pity on him and began to enjoy himself in their various, unfortunate meetings, else this behemoth fool would have killed him long ago for refusing him. To Pharma, it all made orderly sense, how Tarn had broken into his world and taken what he pleased; he didn’t know any better, because he was no better. Pharma had shown him the full range of his emotions, from euphoria to desperation, from fear of death to ecstasy. And Tarn had greedily drunken in this show that he did not deserve, had lapped up what he internally knew, couldn’t be allowed to have.

That’s what drove Tarn to his mad addictions; the deep instinct that he knew he was unworthy of the things he consumed. Really, Tarn was not difficult to understand, and someone had seen right through him to the core of his needy spark.

Pharma did him the favor of moving the panel, opening up the beautiful sight of his impeccable valve. Adjustments, tightening, expanding...he’d done whatever was necessary to glean pleasure from what would be torture, concerning this part of his frame. Tarn truly believed he could control Pharma, merely because he could control his frame and ram his valve into agony. Foolish, foolish animal. Foolish and eager. 

Pharma would allow it.

“I’ve been alone for  _ so _ long.”


	3. Chapter 3

Tarn didn’t grace that with a reply. Instead, as Pharma finally stop dithering and got to giving him what he wanted, Tarn merely pulled back and thrust into him. Pharma’s valve was as exquisite as ever - just tight enough to create the sense of strain, with the pleasing sort of malleability that let Tarn push in all the way. He was wet enough that Tarn had no trouble sliding home.

A full-bodied sigh escaped him as Tarn revelled in the sensation, feeling like a long-time itch had  _ finally _ been scratched. After letting the initial satisfaction pass, Tarn came to. He took his time with it, dragging out his spike and glorying in the wealth of feeling each time, before holding Pharma tighter and filling him again. Tarn was a bit too big for Pharma and that was the way he liked it - looking at the way he had to stretch and strain to take him was a reward all on its own.

His anterior node glimmered hopefully up at him and Tarn slid a servo down to take it, treating it a touch too roughly like he did most things. Pharma was sensitive here, perhaps a tad more than most, and watching the way he jumped and squirmed when Tarn managed to time a thrust and a harsh roll of his thumb on his node was enough to fuel him towards a few more overloads.

 

If only Tarn could just concentrate on the good parts of interfacing, Pharma might not have felt so much need to make his death slow and agonizing. But this right here, the harsh fondle of his node, the touch that made him jolt and whimper, this was why Tarn’s death belonged so firmly in Pharma’s servos. He pictured it now, just as he scratched more of his own paintjob trying to evade Tarn’s unwanted touch. Pharma stilled, vents flaring to suck in air and blast out heated waves in turn and he lost another wanton moan.

Yes, the thought of Tarn’s imminent infection and death could make even the rough touch pleasant. He pictured the behemoth’s optics, bleeding through his mask. His voicebox would melt, he’d lose that overpowering talent of his. His claws would weaken, his frame would crumble...beautiful. Pharma could lose himself in pleasure over such a wonderful scene and he rocked hard onto Tarn’s spike, just a little too big to be a good fit.

 

Sometimes, Tarn wondered if there was a way to regularly frag Pharma without the song and dance of their routine of mutual threat and contempt. Oh, they were Autobot and Decepticon, sworn enemies with convictions so deep that nothing short of Primus himself could make their stances waver - and even that was a strong  _ if _ . But there was no denying the straight fact that their ‘facing was always plate-scorching.

Pharma should have been a Decepticon, in all honesty. He would flourish there, unlike the forced growth that Tarn made him undergo.

He pictured a purple badge on Pharma’s chest as he moved his hips in a way that made Tarn’s vents stutter, and the incoming surge of lust was so unexpectedly strong that Tarn’s engine turned over before roaring, sending guttural growls and tremors shaking through his frame as he fragged Pharma into the last remaining glass wall of his quarantine zone.

Inside Pharma, his spike stretched him out to max capacity and beyond. Nodes were pressed flush against each other, overstimulated, while calipers tried to move and failed. Tarn was a regular visitor of his ceiling node, grinding against it each time he shifted and thrust into Pharma with enough force to make the glass wall quiver.

 

Pharma didn’t try to stand up to this onslaught of pleasure for long. Tarn was a juggernaut when it came to this sort of thing, and the pressure to the calipers of his valve would only be pleasant for a short amount of time. Tarn was a generous lover, even for an animal. He enjoyed seeing Pharma unravel with overload, liked to see the jet lose all semblance of dignity for just a moment.

And Pharma would allow him to see it, for a moment, because he was taking everything he wanted from Tarn and rewarding himself for a plan perfectly performed. Oh, the brute Decepticon would learn what he’d trifled with. The disease was in him now, and would no doubt be triggered within a day. Pharma hoped Tarn would bleed beautifully, and realize that he’d been wrong, that he’d underestimated the depth of Pharma’s pettiness. 

It didn’t matter what Tarn did then. Pharma would drink in his death, would sit next to him and caress him as he went. Just so that Tarn would know that it was not Pharma that belonged to him. Tarn couldn’t hope to best him, because Pharma was his natural better. He couldn’t wait to tell Tarn just that.

The overload hit hard and deep, bedded in the beauty of his vengeful thoughts.

 

Pharma’s overload was always a thing of beauty. First came the tension, then the little sound, and then the release of it all, like a flood cracking out of an overwhelmed dam. Tarn watched it go as Pharma writhed around him and endured the rebound of his charge as it sunk into his plating and bit into his circuitry with little shocks of pleasure.

It was that, combined with the pretty view of Pharma overloading around his spike, that pushed Tarn over the edge after him. He locked his knees to remain upright and held onto Pharma tightly, optics dimmed to a low burn as it burned through his system like liquid fire. When it was done, his shoulder sagged minutely before Tarn perked up once more.

They both knew how long his hunger could last. Pharma was practically an expert on it by now. And yet, Tarn didn’t feel like immediately diving back into action again. He slid out of Pharma and pushed him higher up. Considering how light he was, manipulating him like a doll was terribly easy. His legs ended up over Tarn’s shoulders, while his back bowed backwards, both supported and held by Tarn’s other servo. His face remained a jealously guarded secret between them, and just because Tarn had a new urge did not mean he intended to reveal anything to prying eyes.

 

There was hardly time to enjoy his overload fully before Tarn pushed him up into an obscene, new position. Pharma could barely feel the wall behind him as he focused on Tarn’s burning optics. Yes, they both knew this could go on for hours at a time and the aftermath was not yet in sight, but Pharma had a better reason for observing Tarn right here and now. The effects of Red Rust wouldn’t show before Tarn performed his first transformation, but the disease was already in him. Pharma had taken no chances, and his valve had been lined with infected particles, just for this occasion. If only Tarn knew that he was enjoying his inevitable death so vigorously...Pharma could overload again, just at the mere thought.

“You won’t leave me here, will you?”

 

“Hush,” Tarn replied. He would consider it in further depth later, when his mind wasn’t addled by good valves and their vicious owners. Right now, he had his spark set on something else. The bottom of his mask lifted a small amount - nothing enough to reveal anything worthwhile - and Tarn leaned forward to press his lips to Pharma’s valve.

To be quite fair, he was  _ strongly _ tempted to take Pharma on-board and forego all consequences. Just the thought of having a medic of his caliber on board, not to mention his sweet valve available at all times, was enough to make Tarn spare more than a second’s thought to it. Another part of him wondered why he hadn’t done  _ this _ far earlier in their meetings, because Pharma felt just as good here as he did on his spike. It twitched in interest below, but Tarn was content to ignore it for now.

His node quickly disappeared into Tarn’s greedy mouth after a few seconds as well, and Tarn was as eager a lover he as he was about seeing how many dents he could add to Pharma’s thighs when he pounded his valve.

 

This, this was the sweet highlight of his triumph. Tarn was practically sucking the poison into his mouth, so eager to fulfil his pleasure of undoing Pharma that he would drink his own demise. And Pharma was content to let him, rewarding Tarn’s eager self-destruction with all the noises he knew the tankformer liked to hear. Mewls, a whining turbine, eager whispers of his name. The sweetest lovers would have struggled to find such passion as existed between the two of them.

 

Pharma was a font of passion today, writhing so fiercely that Tarn almost struggled to hold him properly. There was something that felt like crossing the boundaries of their usual ways somewhere here, but Tarn ignored it in favor of burying his tongue deeper to hear how Pharma might react. The twitching, quivering legs around his helm were surely a good sign, as well as the way Pharma was lubricating heavily as he seemed to push his valve into Tarn’s face ever-quicker.

His spike was fully pressurized again, fully interested in the going-on’s of above. Tarn wanted to drop Pharma’s tight valve onto himself again, but resisted mightily for the sake of tasting him further.

He should have exterminated everyone here far sooner, if this was how Pharma was going to react. He should have yanked him off of Messatine entirely, and chained him to the Tyranny for good.

 

Little did Tarn know that any such action would never have lead to Pharma behaving this way. It took the destruction of the last vestige of his professional pride to destroy Pharma’s inhibitions. His own hand had decided his fortune, and it had been the downfall of Delphi. 

It was the depravity of that very thought, that he had destroyed it out of his own, free will, that delighted Pharma the most. Oh, and the small fact that Tarn was proving extra generous today was helping too. Here, among the carnage of his wrathful scheme, Pharma was being rewarded. How fitting and beautiful. He deserved every ounce of this.

His second overload was far more sensual than the blatant, blunt rush of the first.

 

They entangled like that for some time. Tarn took everything Pharma would give him and then some before finally falling back, satiated. Pharma was thoroughly debauched at this period, having had nearly every part of him used to satisfy Tarn. In its wake, Tarn was left to his own devices, to think and wonder.

Pharma had set this disease off. He’d aimed it at Tarn in an attempt to kill him, while quarantining himself off for his own safety. Contagion was via touch - though Tarn could not be sure of that given how easily Pharma lied. And yet, he had not hesitated to ‘face with Tarn. Shouldn’t he have been more concerned about infection?

_ Not unless he has the cure _ .

Of course Pharma would have the cure. He would never endanger himself, even for a scheme like this. So even if he was infected, he was safe. 

Tarn touched his chest. He tongued his teeth and wriggled his fingers. Still, there was no sign of melting parts or rust formation on him. So either the disease was meant to be triggered... somehow… or it had a dormant period until activation. It had been fast-acting, given what he’d seen of the mecha below, so he couldn’t just be leaking now and not notice it.

Regardless, he had to get the cure from Pharma. Then he could drag him onto his ship.

“Pharma,” he rumbled, nudging the medic at his side, “wake up.”

 

When had he fallen into recharge? Pharma awoke to the sight of his dead clinic and his face moved to display distaste. He'd spent enough time around dead mecha and disease now, it was time for him to move onto a more fitting environment. If only Tarn could be less indulgent and more practical.

His frame ached with Tarn's extended pleasures but he roused himself anyway.

“You're still here.”

 

“You have the cure,” Tarn said, not bothering to entertain Pharma’s notions for now. “Give it to me.”

Would there be enough for both of them? Surely Pharma was not so overconfident that he’d synthesize only one sample. Medics were supposed to worship redundancy, weren’t they?

 

“No.” Pharma wondered if Tarn would fall straight into a rage once he realized what exactly Pharma had done, just to ensure his infection and eventual demise. But what could Tarn do? If he killed him, he'd seal his fate. If he tortured him, he'd be wasting his time. Either way, Tarn had no leverage to force Pharma's obedience.

“There is no cure. Not for you.”

 

“But there is for you?” Tarn was carefully patient this time around, because curing himself took priority over punishing Pharma. There was always time for that later. “Unless you mean to kill both of us in one fell swoop.”

Unlikely, unlikely. Unless he severely misjudged Pharma, Tarn didn’t think that he would do that. “So what? Do you think I will simply die here and let you walk away cured?”

 

“You will die here, or on your ship. It matters not to me.” Pharma may have been resting at Tarn's side after their joyous reunion, but now, he was distancing himself as best he could. Not because he feared Tarn. That part of his life was over now.

“You made me do it. There was no way I wouldn't have, after what you've done to me.”

 

“You wouldn’t have had the courage to do it if I hadn’t done what I had.” Tarn grabbed Pharma’s ankle before he could get any farther and dragged him back. “Don’t be dull, Pharma. You’re going to cure me.”

He considered torturing the information out of him, before discarding the idea. Pharma would be of no use to him if he was too damaged to do anything. Hurting could, as always, come  _ later _ .

“You are infected too, aren’t you? You must be by now. So that cure… it’s on you.”

 

“Don't be stupid, Tarn. I already administered the cure to myself. As if I would be so clumsy as to not prepare for this eventuality.” Pharma shook his leg but Tarn's grip was fairly solid, much to his dismay.

“There would be little point in curing you, after all the work I put in to make sure you get infected. Did you enjoy your last interface? It was certainly contagious.”

 

“You little glitch.” Pharma had taken advantage of Tarn’s favored activity between them to attack him. What a deviously irritating plan. Tarn would almost be impressed again, if he wasn’t monitoring his life signs for any sign of the disease activating.

He dragged Pharma close yet again, until he was once more in Tarn’s lap. This time, however, he didn’t move to ‘face him again. Instead, he secured him in place, giving him no way to leave. “So you think you’ve won? You have infected me, and cured yourself. I suppose your ideal ending would be to have me dead or dying, while you gallivant off somewhere scot-free.”

 

“I will be free. It's just a matter of time.” Pharma knew exactly what would trigger the rust, how long it would take to kill Tarn, and how his diseased frame would infect the rest of his unit as he died before their optics.

Tarn had always kept some indulgences secret, and Pharma knew he was one of them. Tarn might die before he made it back to the base, but then the DJD would come looking for him. Pharma would be long gone by then, with this loose end tied up. He could ill afford to have Tarn chase him across the universe.

“You can hurt me, kill me, it won't matter. You will die, just like I promised.”

 

“Fatalism does not suit you, Pharma.” Tarn stroked the edge of his face with a claw tip, mind working to find a solution that would get him everything  _ he _ wanted. Perhaps he’d been mistaken in putting so much weight on Pharma’s desire to live. A part of him was mildly disappointed by that - Pharma had been so interesting  _ because _ of how far he’d go to keep himself alive and on top. To give up now felt… anticlimactic.

“You don’t need to be hurt - or even die. It’d be an awfully final ending to it, don’t you think? To have died with only a few deaths to mark your biggest success… it’s a small victory.” Tarn had greater, bigger visions for Pharma than this. If not… then he would make sure Pharma died, at least. Two could play the spite game.

“Does it matter to you so much? To throw everything away just so you can say you beat me?”

 

“You did this to me!” Pharma’s servos were firmly pressing against Tarn's chestplate as he tried to push himself away. Fury, old and bitter, distorted his faceplate.

“I know you did. You wanted to break me, you wanted to see what I would do as you played. You have to die, and then I will be free. Nothing you do will change it.” Pharma smiled, manic, to himself.

“I have beaten you, because you can't actually kill me. No one else knows a cure and you have nothing left to hold over my helm. I beat you, Tarn, I beat you.”

His smile grew more radiant, true happiness behind Pharma's mad words.

 

His servos closed over Pharma’s, holding them as Tarn leaned forward. “Free from what?” he asked. “Free from the Autobots? From Delphi? Me?”

His thumbs swept over Pharma’s palms as he tilted his helm, seemingly in thought. “If you refuse to cure me, then I could kill you regardless. But why have such a final ending, mm?”

He pulled his servos a bit, making Pharma tilt towards him. “So you did,” Tarn said, mouth curling up into a mirthless smirk behind his mask. “You did it, Pharma. You got me. You’ve  _ won _ .”

Their faces hovered scant inches off each other. Had the mask not been in the way, Tarn could have leaned forward only a little to kiss Pharma. “But why end  _ there _ ?”


	4. Chapter 4

Their faces hovered scant inches off each other. Had the mask not been in the way, Tarn could have leaned forward only a little to kiss Pharma. “But why end  _ there _ ?”

 

“I don't plan for this to be my end. Just yours. Once you are dead and I make my way off of this wretched world...”

He'd be free. And alone. No one would know him or what he'd done, and wasn't that a crying shame? To have bested the beast without anyone to bear witness to his brilliance...maybe he should record this. His internal log began to, and he'd have to get a good view of Tarn on he had passed, violently.

“I won't end. I'll find somewhere new. Don't you worry about me, Tarn.”

And because Pharma could, he leaned in to kiss that mask, profoundly.

 

His optics dimmed a fraction as the kiss came and his mouth twitched, as if to reciprocate. Of course, that was not possible and so Tarn simply let it happen in silence, holding onto Pharma’s hips. “We could make a new deal,” he offered when Pharma backed away. “New terms.”

“You come with me and cure me. In exchange, you have a passage off-world and a promise.” His grip on him was almost tender as Tarn went to the extra care of keeping his claws away from Pharma’s plating. “You got this far because I hurt you. I can stop.”

 

“I do not want to serve you.” Pharma's chin tilted up and his optics flared brightly as he contemplated the impossible. He would never cure Tarn. But if he went with him, pretended to, he might even get to see his death and gain passage off of Messatine sooner rather than later. Maybe if Tarn's entire unit died...Pharma would have a ship. He could even keep Tarn's parts to amuse him, should he choose to.

“What good is your promise to me?”

 

“My promises have always been good. I’ve never lied to you.” Tarn stroked Pharma soothingly as he outlined his plan of recruitment (and his personal survival). “You don’t serve me - you can’t, if you’re not a formal member of the crew.”

He just needed to convince Pharma that he would prefer Tarn alive, rather than dead. It would be a project in the working, clearly. “It couldn’t be worse than staying here. My unit will never touch you.”

 

“Offering an Autobot sanctuary, Tarn? Isn't that against your orders?” Pharma wasn't really considering it a possibility just yet. But he liked to entertain the notion. He couldn't just give in and change his mind, this had to be convincing, after all.

Tarn needed to believe it was his masterful manipulation that convinced Pharma, not the jet’s own agenda.

 

“Don't pretend you understand anything about Decepticon procedures,” Tarn chided. “Do you think we don't seek to turn and use Autobot resources when necessary?”

He meant to bring Pharma along with him, but he could not also underestimate the mech much like he’d done once already. Pharma had proven himself to be a poisonous snake with too much intelligence to be comforting, and again, Tarn had to consider simply torturing the information on the disease out of him, killing Pharma, and finding a medic who could remake Pharma’s cure. In fact, he could bring the corpse along in case the cure still lingered within his system.

But, then again, Tarn wouldn't be in this situation to begin with if he hadn't had a history of leniency with Pharma.

His lord had always said Tarn had to adhere to the Cause strongly to not let his spark waylay him. But another instinct strongly whispered that the Cause could be furthered if he just find the key to pulling Pharma to his side.

“Are you still planning to kill me?” he asked, pulling Pharma in to rest against his chest. “Is your thirst for vengeance so tireless?”

 

“I’ve already killed you. All I have to do now is wait and watch,” Pharma leaned against the warm chestplate, the picture of domestic bliss with the mech he’d promised certain death to. There was something about Tarn he couldn’t put his finger on, something that had him care to claim Tarn’s demise, make sure it was only he and not one of his other, numerous, nameless enemies who could manage to off him. Tarn belonged to Pharma, because he’d tried to trap and break him.

“Nothing less than what I promised myself I’d do to you for all you did to me.”

 

“And what, pray tell, did I do to you?” Tarn petted Pharma’s helm. “Was it the deal? Or the ‘facing? I never forced you to accept the deal, my dear doctor. You could have walked back to your clinic, put a gun in your mouth, and ended it all before I ever touched a single little wing. As for the ‘facing…”

He leaned in closer, until Pharma could feel the heat venting out of him. “You  _ enjoyed _ it.”

 

“That doesn’t mean I welcomed being put into the situation. Do not try to talk me out of sense. If you had not come here to threaten the mine and the clinic, I wouldn’t have had to protect it.” Pharma shuddered with the heat, preening where he was pressed so close to Tarn they could be cuddling, if only they were other people.

“You did  _ everything _ to me.”

 

“And  _ look _ where you are. You’ve achieved something that most medics can only _ dream _ of, all in secret, on your own. You’ve released yourself from the petty chains of conventional morality and the hypocrisy of the Autobots. You are  _ better _ now.”

 

Tarn treated Pharma like a favored cybercat, stroking down his spine as he murmured more enticements into his audial. “I  _ did _ threaten you, yes. But you would have done the same, in my position. We were enemies, at the time.”

 

“We’re still enemies,” Pharma turned his face, only enough to brush his lips over the side of Tarn’s mask, very tempted to try and nibble at the latches. Maybe once the mech was dead, he’d be able to look upon the face of the mech who’d pushed him over the brink of his sanity.

Pharma was terribly aware of how bad he’d become; how callously he dismissed lives, how easily he snuffed sparks. It was all born out of necessity, of course, but some part of him knew he’d been capable of this before. It was always in him to push the boundaries of the acceptable.

He kissed Tarn’s mask again.

“I would  _ never _ have done what you did.”

 

“You would have killed me, and told yourself it was a job well done. And then you would continue on with your thankless life, resenting your station, resenting your staff, until maybe you would’ve found yourself here. I didn’t bring out something  _ new, _ Pharma. All of this? It was always within you.”

Pharma toyed with the latches of his mask, but Tarn didn’t attempt to stop him. It was too well-secured for something like that to remove it.

“You could have done it differently, you know. You could have told someone -  _ everyone _ . Then you could have rallied your weapons, repurposed tools, and prepared to face me on my lonesome. I might have even died, if you were prepared enough. But you didn’t.”

His helm turned a fraction, so his optic could find Pharma. “You killed everyone here - not me. You used that brilliant, awful mind of yours to plot all of this, because that is who you are - not the false creature you pretended to be. And no one will ever understand that. But not me.”

He cradled the back of Pharma’s helm as they both carried on with the charade of affection and tenderness. “I  _ want _ that. I want what you are now. At my side, you could be  _ truly _ free.”

 

It pleased Pharma that Tarn had the capacity to see all that he had achieved. They sat here, curled together like the sweetest pair of conjunxes, amidst chaos, rot, and destruction. Among the massacre of the Delphi clinic. Corpses with dried trails of rusted, melted insides decorated the hall that lead Tarn into the depths of the building. Silence governed the rest. And here was Tarn, praising Pharma’s brilliance for it.

“If I am at your side, I am not free. I will not serve a Cause I do not agree with. And that, my dear Tarn, is an elementary problem.”

His stupid dedication to a dead Cause was just one of many of Tarn’s flaws, and it would be the one that kept Pharma from prancing into his traps.

“I  _ despise _ Decepticons.”

 

“I loathe Autobots. And yet, here we are.” Tarn felt heat flush through him, and wondered if it was charge or the disease. If he was infected, he’d waited long enough to it would be in every part of him now. Pharma was the only one who could save him, at this point. So even though a part of him wanted to throw Pharma down and ravage him, he withheld and continued to act like a suitor, slow and sweet as he painted a fresh trap for his doctor.

“I will not force you,” Tarn murmured as his knuckles brushed against Pharma’s turbine. He followed it down before slipping one finger into the small opening at the end, and spun the small blades there idly. “Who says you must serve anything? Not I.”

He would, eventually. After all, hadn’t Tarn already molded Pharma into something beyond his petty limitations of before. Turning him into a proper Decepticon was only a matter of time… “You will be free of all other expectations,” he said, spinning another blade, “You will never have to answer to someone like Prowl again.”

 

Pharma knew he was being offered something here. Tarn took it as a given that Pharma could fabricate more of the cure to his perfect disease, and seemed to operate on the assumption that he’d keep his word once he agreed. It was precious as it was interesting. Pharma noted the gentle touch inside of his turbine but did nothing with it. As long as Tarn wasn’t ripping or piercing anything, he could touch any part of Pharma he pleased. A dying mech’s last wishes couldn’t be refused, of course.

“And you? Would I not have to answer to you? And your minions? I won’t be mistreated by a bunch of miscreants.”

He wasn’t considering it, really, but it was always more fun to play with Tarn than dismiss him outright. His delicate, blue servos were stroking in the tankformer’s seams, places those thick claws could never hope to reach.

 

“My unit has no involvement in this.” And never would, if Tarn had any say in that. They hadn’t interfered when Tarn started going to the drop-off point regularly, and they would not interfere now. “As for the rest… it can be agreed upon, if you agree to the move.”

He noticed Pharma never provided him with a definite answer. He was playing with Tarn as much as Tarn did with him, though this time the stakes were high enough for Tarn that he was playing for keeps. He couldn’t promote the Cause if he was dead, after all.

As Pharma reciprocated his touch, Tarn relaxed and let his plates relax, giving him more space to work. There was nothing on this end that Pharma could permanently damage, anyway.

“You continue to evade. Are you still enamored with the concept of my death?”

 

“I do love it dearly, I’m afraid.” Pharma apologized with a butterfly kiss pressed to the mask again as he busied himself with fondling Tarn as sweetly as any lover should. He couldn’t wait for the moment this frame stopped moving, stopped living. When all the color drained out of the plating, when Tarn would become grey and still. Then Pharma might be satisfied with this loose end that he couldn’t quite tie up.

“Are you afraid to die, Tarn? Unfulfilled, not in battle or service to your Cause? Will it bring shame to your name? Your  _ master _ ?”

 

“Would you like it if I confessed to you my fears now? Do you want a spiel about my terror of death and shame?” Tarn sighed and his helm leaned back against the glass as Pharma managed to touch him in the right places. He was heating up a little, but not enough to distract him. If Pharma kept this up, however, it might be a different story. At least he could not complain that he did not walk into  _ that  _ ‘face knowingly.

“I don’t plan on dying,” he said, staring up as clever fingers danced under his plating. “I do not  _ fear _ it - otherwise I would not walk into danger so readily. But that does not mean I embrace it either. We all have our time to die, but mine is not up yet.”

He could only rest when his Cause was fulfilled. Until then, Tarn would not stop for anything. “And if I die, I shall not know what happens to you. It would be a shame to see you end up on a backwater without a way to use your skills, or to freeze to death.”

 

Pharma’s gaze sharpened. None of those things were suitable ends to his story and Tarn should be better aware that Pharma would know how to avoid each of those things.

“So what, you envision me as your personal medic instead? My talents would be wasted also if they were limited to merely tending to your petty addictions. Any idiot with a scalpel can replace a T-cog. And the Nuke...well. That is your personal choice of poorly researched substances.”

Pharma was destined for far greater things than mere care for patients. He was made to further the medical field radically. To push the boundaries of the impossible. A glint entered his gaze and he stared past Tarn, frame nicely arched against him as he recalled everything about Nuke he knew. It was enough to make it interesting to play with.

“I won’t make any of my findings available to you if I don’t want to.”

 

“As long as it does not pose a direct threat to me or my unit,” Tarn countered. He was not used to playing with Pharma on an even field, but he could adapt quickly. This was not so different from their usual dances of wordplay and half-truths anyway. “Think of medical care for me as only… an addition on the side. But it would be a waste to use you only for that… no, no, Pharma. I am not so short-sighted.”

“I can provide test subjects - mechanical, organic, any species you can think of, be they discovered or not. My ship’s medibay can rival Delphi in terms of how well-supplied it is, with upward mobility available. But most importantly of all, Pharma…” he took hold of Pharma’s chin a second time, to make him direction his gaze to Tarn again. “I  _ want _ you to experiment. I want you to make the impossible possible, and in doing so, hurt many,  _ many _ people.”

 

Tarn had a talent for words; Pharma would never deny him that. Slowly, his mouth stretched into a smile, relieved, adoring, and utterly mad. Tarn wanted to hurt people. Pharma didn’t care if he did, as long as he was free, he could pursue just what he wanted.

And why not make the agreement? He could invent something new for Tarn. He could make Red Rust impervious to antidotes, if he wanted to. He could even suppress the symptoms in the tankformer until he tired of this new respect that Tarn was showing to him. Pharma could wait for the beautiful death he’d promised his assailant.

“Maybe there is some antidote left over, after all,” he whispered, leaning close again as he let go of Tarn and reached into his own subspace, producing a vial filled with something toxically green. Pharma popped the cap, almost threatening to spill it out.

“It has to be taken orally.”

 

He eyed the cure suspiciously. It would be foolish to believe Pharma instantly, given his propensity for lies… but what else could Tarn do? He was no medic, nor did he have anyone on hand to verify. He could only just… trust.

Pharma was like a double-edged sword now. In ripping him out of his morals, Tarn had also forged him into a blade that could cut him as readily as it could cut his enemies. It was dangerous. It was  _ good _ . It kept him always watching and a lesson from his master came back to Tarn in that moment, as he remembered the answer to a question - why did his lord keep Starscream around?

_ Because you should never be too comfortable _ .

His scar had been one such reminder of that. Perhaps another was necessary, as well.

He reached up slowly, sliding the edge of a claw into a small opening between his mask and his face. With a small  _ snap _ , the latches released. The mask came off and his face was touched by sunlight for the first time in years. Tarn was grinning viciously, scar crinkled, canines glinting, and his eyes burned at the sight of the cure.

“Give it to me.”

 

Tarn’s face was a pleasant surprise, much to Pharma’s shock. He didn’t allow it to show on his own expression, nothing more than a raised optical ridge and slightly dimmed optics. Now here was something he could thoroughly appreciate in keeping alive. Why hadn’t he seen this before? Pharma froze for a long moment, appreciating everything from the burning optics to the pointed fangs. Not the face of a monstrous brute...but a devilishly handsome mech.

A face that Pharma needed to ride a few more times before those pretty optics melted away.

“Open,” he instructed, one servo brushing his fingers over Tarn’s lips and cupping his cheek. Once the tankformer obeyed, Pharma let the bright green antidote trickle from the vial and into Tarn’s awaiting mouth.

 

He let his mouth fall open and Tarn accepted the antidote as it was poured into his mouth. It felt like Pharma was taking his sweet time with it, making Tarn tilt his helm back a little more to catch every drop. It tasted utterly vile, but it was supposedly the substance that would save his life.

It landed on his tongue, slid down his intake, and curled in his internals like poison. Tarn held Pharma close to him, so that he could crush his spark if he started to gloat about succeeding in his murder finally. When all of it was gone, however, he licked his lips… and pulled Pharma into a kiss. Their first, actually.

If it was poison, he would kill Pharma with it. Still, he could enjoy the kiss anyway, and take advantage of the opportunity presented to him. He’d thought about it enough.

 

Pharma offered no resistance. It was about time that he learned how Tarn managed kissing. Not terribly, actually. There was nothing hurried about this, even as the bitter taste of the antidote permeated their mouths. Pharma dropped the vial, ignoring where it shattered on the floor beside them and he wrapped both arms around Tarn’s neck. Even his optics offlined. Kissing was one of Pharma’s favourite things to do, and he’d neglected it for a millenia. 

 

For a normal person, the way they easily switched between affection to violence, then back again, might have overwhelmingly unpredictable. To them, however, it was simply how it was meant to be.

Perhaps Pharma had poisoned him, and kept the antidote. Perhaps he was immune. Perhaps he’d done something else. Or, perhaps, he’d even told the truth and actually cured him. None of those stopped Tarn from curling his servos around Pharma’s trim waist and deepening the kiss. As his tongue pushed in, his internal temperature continued to tick upward. With each vent, Tarn dumped enough heat to fog the glass around him.

It was… surprisingly pleasant to do this. Tarn would have to keep going, just to see if the sensation remained the same. And wasn’t an experiment supposed to be repeated multiple times, in multiple conditions, to ensure the results were trustworthy?

He certainly wouldn’t mind doing that.

He kissed Pharma as if he loved him. There were no bites, no cruel tricks this time - just Tarn’s all-consuming hunger for every inch of Pharma.

 

And Pharma mirrored his intensity. All of the focus he’d ever laid on Tarn sunk into this kiss, into exploring the mech he hated so thoroughly with nothing short of passion. Erotic holovids had nothing on them. Pharma lingered in the kiss, played with Tarn’s glossa, caressed him tenderly. The antidote’s bitter taste was the only reminder that he had plans at work here, and he was changing them rapidly to accommodate this new avenue for his future. Maybe Tarn had not outlived his usefulness. Maybe there was more for him to give to Pharma, and the medic was greedily exploring his options. 

His charge had ramped up enough for his panel to be dripping again, but he wouldn’t seek a rough, fast ‘facing now. If anything, he would test just how gentle Tarn could be.

 

Again, his servos twitched with the desire to mount Pharma and frag him until he was keening. Tarn was a violent mech by nature, and a single exchange could not change that. He was, however, not a stupid mech. Their deal rested on fragile foundations, and fragging it all up with one wayward move would be exactly what Pharma was waiting for.

So instead, he would just show Pharma that he didn’t need pain to rob him of his mind and senses. Tarn didn’t intend to demand he open his panels either. It would be a concession, if he did, an admit of defeat to need to still ask when Pharma had proven to be willing time and time again.

Even in the throws of passion, they still could not cease their constant manipulations.

His servo dropped between them. Tarn touched Pharma’s panel as he kissed him, teasing his seams and pressing his fingers over where he knew his node to be.  _ Give in _ , he thought, simply waiting for an excuse to reduce Pharma to a squirming, mewling mess in his lap.

 

He didn’t have to wait for long. Pharma opened up easily for him, allowing the touch to his heated array, vents hitching as he settled himself around those claws. Tarn had been inside of him many, many times. Often times too roughly, too demanding for it to be anything but a greedy animal fulfilling its desires. But now, that would be different. Tarn would do as Pharma demanded, for once, and fulfil a need the medic didn’t know had been building up for so long.

The gentle delusion of love was an exquisite toxin, and Pharma would indulge in its fake existence for today. Maybe again, if he had another chance for it.

 

Tarn’s touch this time was almost painful in how light it was. He treated Pharma like he was the finest porcelain and glass, showing that, yes, he  _ could _ be gentle if he desired. He kissed Pharma like he was something to be savored, adored, and coveted, while his servo below pressed against his node with careful, firm pressure.

A beast snapped its jaws in his chest, demanding that he simply take Pharma and use him. It demanded Tarn rip overloads out of him and turn that annoying voice into a shrill squeal for mercy. It was silenced and muzzled, however, as Tarn bit the inside of his cheek and ignored the rapid pings for release from his own array.

He teased. He flirted. He hinted. Tarn wanted to work Pharma up to a point where it would be a relief and a pleasure both to have him thrust his fingers into his valve. Until then, his anterior node drowned in a wealth of touch.

 

The self-control Tarn was exhibiting was wonderful and Pharma was a gracious recipient. His hips undulated a little, situating himself more comfortably with the firm touch to his node. His optics remained offline for now as he finally brought himself to break away from the kiss. This was magnificent, and if Tarn had employed this method in Pharma’s initial seduction, the results might have been very different. This was the kind of thing mecha could get addicted to.

Pharma rewarded him with a pretty little moan of Tarn’s name.

 

Pharma sounded much better when he was like this, seemingly tame and pliant. Tarn knew the truth, but he could pretend otherwise for now. Without kisses to occupy him, he could moan prettily and arch under his touch, providing Tarn with a visual guide on how he needed to move his fingers  _ just so _ to make Pharma shudder as if shocked.

“See?” he said as he continued to play with Pharma’s node, rolling and rubbing it, “I can be gentle, Pharma. I can be as  _ sweet _ as you want me to be.”

He followed the guideline of Pharma’s reactions. When he shivered, Tarn pushed. When his mouth twisted, he receded. Lubricant gushed from his hot valve, turning his lining into a slick, hot mess, but Tarn ignored the temptation just at his fingertips. “I can make this so good for you that you would  _ ask _ for more.”

He followed up on a moan, his clever servo inching it up higher and higher until Pharma was like piano wire, taut and tight. Tarn leaned in closer as his engine rumbled, sending hot vibrations thrumming up his plating and between Pharma’s legs, and kissed the corner of Pharma’s open mouth. “Just be mine, and I’ll be  _ yours _ .”

 

Oh, the temptation to those words. Pharma was barely focusing on what Tarn was saying, entirely distracted by what he was doing. Those claws, they could be so precise, so pleasant, it was a small-time miracle. And Pharma was writhing for more of it.

Tarn, his. Wasn’t that a prospect worth investigating? Pharma’s frame said yes, his mind continued to deliberate. Tarn would never be wholly his until he gave up everything he was at Pharma’s behest. Could he be pushed so far? Could he be deluded into lavishing mad worship onto Pharma, rather than his beloved lord and master?

Tempting. Too tempting. Pharma could feel his interest grasp a firm hold of the idea, even if he dispensed with the notion of belonging to Tarn. Pharma belonged to himself, and he killed readily as other mecha vented for it.

He turned in time to catch Tarn’s lips in another kiss. If it were up to him, that mask could stay gone and he could examine the intricate damage on that derma, but currently, he was too distracted to pay it much mind.

“You’ve such a pretty way of asking...” he spoke more to himself than Tarn, “You’re already mine.”

 

“Not quite,” Tarn whispered into the kiss, “not quite.”

Finally, he did as that wanton valve begged him to do. His fingers pushed in, opened him up, filled him, and Tarn felt the way the mesh flexed to accommodate him. It was tight, but Pharma had taken much more without trouble. Inside, he felt the rings of calipers shudder as his intrusion, as well as all the little swollen nodes within that he usually only found with his spike. Around his servo, lubricant flowed down freely.

Mm. For someone who protested so fiercely, Pharma could be just as easily coaxed into fragging someone he hated. Tarn wet his lips again, remembering the taste of his valve on his glossa.

Again, his array begged him to take what was so freely offered. Tarn could stop, could renege, could seize that tight, wet little hole and send Pharma wailing into the floor while his claws dug new trenches in his plate. He swallowed thickly, felt the vision of violence and punishment flash in his mind before he suppressed it. With a long, extended sigh, Tarn continued his part in this new persuasions attempt.

He would have his due, eventually.

 

Not quite? Tarn was delusional if he thought he wasn’t already under Pharma’s spell, and his restraint now only provided evidence to that truth. Why would he hold back, if he supposedly wasn’t concerned with Pharma’s control over him? Why would he be so gentle with someone he thought he owned?

Tarn was definitely delusional, and Pharma had no mercy for him now or ever. He existed to please and Pharma had just saved his life, only for him to continue that purpose.

Dutifully, he indulged the claws in him, but soon, they were not enough. Pharma snaked a servo between his legs, letting his fingers dance over the outside of his array, parting mesh that was already dripping thick lubricant.

“Your spike. I want it. Serve me with it.”

He’d never tried to take control of their interfacing, usually a pretty, tortured soul, laying on his back or shoved against a wall, letting things happen to him at Tarn’s will. But their game had changed now, and Pharma had pieces on the board.

 

When had Pharma  _ ever _ asked to be spiked? Tarn was caught off-guard by the moment and his fingers ceased movement as he glanced at Pharma, just to make sure he wasn’t plotting something else. There was definitely  _ something _ happening in that little helm of his, but Tarn hadn’t been gifted with Soundwave’s telepathy. He could figure it out later, when he wasn’t distracted.

Pharma’s snippy words could even be ignored in favor of doing exactly as he said. Tarn pulled out just long enough to release his panel and line his spike up with Pharma’s valve. The corner of his mouth lifted higher than the other when he saw Pharma was being quite the dear already, holding himself open as if he simply could not wait.

Well, who was Tarn to deny him?

… or, rather, who was Tarn to deny him for  _ long _ ?

Given how eager Pharma was, he felt a little burst of internal satisfaction as he took his time pulling Pharma down on him, easing in the tip and then each ridge with glacial slowness. It was particularly fantastic to feel him like this, helplessly opening wider. This process normally happened much quicker. Perhaps he  _ should _ move slower, just to savor this moment.

 

It didn’t matter what Tarn was thinking of, he was obeying Pharma’s wishes and command. That in itself was as pleasant as this new, slow penetration he was paying such close attention to. Like this, Pharma could feel each ridge rasp past his calipers, could practically hear the click of his valve cycling around the familiar intruder.

Like this, it felt as if all of this meant something, and the fantasy of it was a lovely notion to his mind. Pharma deserved this. Pharma deserved to be worshipped and loved and treated well. There simply was no other reason to indulge in this.

His expression didn’t mask his bliss, his optics lingering on a low setting. His gaze was far from Tarn, though his frame was an eager participant in current events.

 

After agonizing, long seconds, Pharma was fully seated on his spike. Tarn stayed like that for a few seconds, simply enjoying the feeling of having a valve around his spike before he was ready to move. They’d interfaced already, before, but this was a new type, one that demanded more attention. Tarn pulled Pharma closer again, and kissed him as he began to thrust.

Once more, the pretense of love was upheld. Tarn usually set a harsh pace to make Pharma wail under him, usually turning Pharma’s valve into a sore, puffy mess of transfluid when he was done. But now, he was slow and careful. There was still several unavoidable factors that simply came out of fragging someone his size - his spike still crushed calipers back, still forcibly pushed into his ceiling node - but it was paced enough that Pharma could ready himself for the startling jolt from his sensors each time.

 

It was different than their norm and Pharma could savour each moment of it. Like this, he might even forget that Tarn was a brute who loved to see his own spike warp the plating on Pharma’s abdomen. This lovely little affair was the perfect dessert to his sweet victory and Pharma wasn’t holding back on Tarn.

He drowned his moans and little noises in Tarn’s mouth, rode Tarn’s spike with practiced ease to make it slide over every node with every thrust. Pharma’s spark whirled madly in his spark chamber, caught between affection and hatred and consumed with passion for both.

 

They matched rhythms with the ease of two people who’d been doing this for a long, long time. They hated each other’s factions, despised each other’s ideologies, and had tried to kill each other many times, but they still knew exactly what the other liked and how to counter that. Pharma and Tarn worked in tandem to make every motion count, and both were venting heavily, gasping heatedly into each other’s mouths as the charge mounted.

White tongues of charge raced over plating. They were so closely intertwined that neither could figure who was the source of which, making them both the center of a small storm of charge. Tarn clutched Pharma tightly, like he was a lifeline he could not let go, and despite his usual efforts to the contrary, a few hoarse, rasping moans escaped him as well. It was accompanied by low hisses as he responded to Pharma’s pleasure, and vice-versa.

 

More than enough for Pharma to race towards his highlight, the overload he was so dearly owed. It was different, this time. With Tarn so close, in his mouth, in his valve, it felt much more connected. He could taste Tarn’s charge in the back of his throat, lining it thickly with sparks of current and Pharma was delighted by it, delighted to give his own to that. The current visibly raced over his frame, jumped from his fingertips onto Tarn, and continued its path of pleasurable havoc over his massive frame.

Pharma sighed blissfully as his valve contracted, squeezing Tarn’s spike deeply into him. Why didn’t they do it like this before? It would have been far easier to convince Pharma that Tarn was a lovely accessory to his life with this kind of interfacing in their arsenal.

 

Tarn had intended to hold out for longer, to stretch out his moment of bliss, but Pharma had soured his plans with his sudden explosion of charge that immediately leapt from their origin to Tarn. He sucked in a vent as it zipped through his plating and protoform like a lightning bolt of pleasure so intense that it almost made his engine sputter. Overloading was the only path forward after that, and they both lit up in a brief lightshow as transfluid flooded Pharma’s valve and dripped around Tarn’s spike. He shuddered and it was a like a mountain quaking. It would have knocked Pharma off if Tarn hadn’t held onto him, hadn’t kissed him with the sort of desperation that was only born during overload.

When his optics no longer dilated of their own accord, Tarn managed to relax. Steam poured out of his seams as he sighed and dimmed his optics for a moment. That overload felt like it’d practically wiped his entire system clean, leaving him only with the feeling of all-encompassing warmth and Pharma still on him, still clenching around his spike.

His scar itched and with a lazy servo, he reached up and dug his claws in to relieve it. Pharma was a debauched vision on his lap, also looking as if all his fuses had been blown out by the incredible overload.

 

Pharma could have flopped over and landed in filth right now, he wouldn’t care. The intensity of that overload cleared even his mind, usually a troubled vortex full of schemes and paranoia. Now though, it was blissfully empty, and he could focus on how good he felt.

It sealed his decision. He’d go with Tarn, and get his fill of his dues. He definitely wanted to overload like this every night. He might even get decent recharge after it.

“...I’ll come with you. If you do this to me again, as often as you can.”

 

Tarn was beginning to feel like a puddle. He rarely ever felt so… loose everywhere. Sometimes, burning through a new cog in one go could elicit that feeling - though it was usually because he’d overrun his joints to the point that they felt like jelly. A hard nuke high followed by recharge immediately after could also be the same, though none of those were as satisfying. Tarn felt like he could recharge right now and wake up a hundred years later to repeat it.

With that kind of mood, he could be forgiven for a few verbal slips.

“Whenever you want… however you want,” he said, mouth feeling somewhat numb, “every day, you needn’t even ask.”

He tried to move and hoarsely moaned when some remnant bit of charge raced through his system one last time. Sleeping here wasn’t an option, however, not when they wasted so much time already. Tarn had to stash Pharma on his ship now, when he was still too loopy to attempt another murder.

He scooped Pharma up in a bridal carry, cradling him to his chest. They were both a little… damp from everything they did, but a walk through the snow would clear that up.

“We’re going,” he said as a column of steam escaped him again, “say good bye.”

 

“Goodbye.” Pharma laughed, waving to the corpses strewn in desperate positions around Delphi. Each hallway bore the mark of his skill, the mark of his salvation. Whenever the Autobots would come here, to inevitably investigate what had happened, they’d see what carnage Pharma had wrought. And they’d never know it was him. 

He didn’t care that it might be suspicious that he wasn’t among the dead. Anything could have happened to him, from a crash during a blizzard to an attack by Decepticons. Pharma was done here, and he’d leave no trace of his doings behind. 

He held onto Tarn with the enthusiasm of a freshly minted conjunx, fully expecting him to carry his glorious burden all the way to his base and beyond.


	5. Chapter 5

There was something symbolic about the whole gesture of carrying Pharma out like this, but Tarn couldn’t be bothered to use his helm for anything that wasn’t more complicated than putting one pede forward. There was a light blizzard outside, but Tarn simply turned up his heat output and bulled his way through. It didn’t bother him, and his passenger was shielded from the elements by toasty warm arms.

The walk to the base was slower than the his first drive here. Tarn didn’t try to find his unitmates, whether they were inside or outside, and pushed his way onto the  _ Peaceful Tyranny _ instead. The trek to his quarters was blissfully empty of other people, so he could drop Pharma off without undue questions.

When he checked the time, he realized, to his surprise, that a day had already passed since he found Pharma. So they’d fragged, recharged, and then fragged again. How… perfectly indulgent of them.

Considering what he got out of his, however, Tarn couldn’t mind too much. He pinged the division with a short order - get the ship off the ground, go to Delphi and take pictures as evidence of the dead, then get off planet. Kaon was placed in temporary command while Tarn closed and locked his doors before falling into his berth with Pharma next to him. He was immediately folded up into Tarn’s arms while his systems lulled for a short nap.

Unknowingly, Tarn had also left his mask off. When he woke, he would return it to its rightful place. For now… frag it.

 

-x-

 

He absolutely hated Tarn’s minions.

They were creepy. They were ugly. And they were nosy. Whenever he wandered the halls, he knew they were watching him, following him. Their rage and intense dislike of his presence meant nothing, of course. They were nothing more than specks of dirt that existed to irritate him. Some days, Pharma wished they would step too close, make a comment too loud, and he’d put them in their place. Tarn himself was only marginally elevated above their positions in the universe, but at least Tarn pretended he had class.

 

-x-

 

“Move. You’re in my way.”

It didn’t matter that the mech lounging in the hallway leading to the medibay was three times his size, Pharma was in no mood to be trifled with and tapped his pede, glaring up at Tesarus.

 

For every scrap of dislike and hatred Pharma had for them, the DJD returned it threefold. Oh, yes, they  _ loathed _ him. They would rather burn in the Pits than accept a cup of water from his servo. When his hateful, irritating face came into view, violence always hovered on the horizon as they pictured all the ways they could smash him to pieces.

Any member of the DJD could reduce Pharma to fragging  _ paste _ if they wanted. Even Vos could, and he was both shorter and skinnier than the medic. In a fair world, they would have belted him to Kaon the minute he showed his weaselly face around the ship while feeding his wings to Tesarus. He would have been nothing within moments.

Yet.  _ Yet _ .

The most loathsome, awful, ridiculous, and plain  _ disgusting _ part of this was that they  _ couldn’t _ . Every twitch and jerk of impending violence was to be kept to only that - twitches and jerks. They could fantasize, they could mutter, and they could glare, but Pharma was not a target.

On the  _ Peaceful Tyranny _ , the word of Tarn was synonymous to the word of Lord Megatron and Primus. When he spoke, it became law. And in the all-encompassing words of Tarn, Pharma the fragging Autobot was off-limits. He couldn’t have made it clearer if he’d underlined, bolded, and painted the words on their walls with energon. Off. Limits.

They were not allowed to hurt Pharma. They were not allowed to touch Pharma. They were not allowed to even  _ insult _ Pharma. And while it remained unspoken, Tarn heavily encouraged not even  _ talking _ to Pharma.

Simply put, Pharma was untouchable. He was allowed to run roughshod over mecha who could stomp his face into a grease stain. It was tempting, sometimes,  _ damn  _ tempting. But while  _ they _ could snap Pharma in two, Tarn could snap  _ them _ in two. None of them thought that Tarn would  _ actually _ kill over an Autobot, but he was a frighteningly creative mech who didn’t  _ need _ to kill to get his point across. There was a reason Kaon had that stupid Pet, dammit!

So out of a healthy dose of respect and fear, they kept their mitts off the glitch. It wasn’t the worst they’d suffered under Tarn’s tyrannical rule - Tarn could be a harsh taskmaster who’d gladly stomp on their frames if he thought it would better the Cause. All of them had experienced Tarn’s form of discipline once he thought they crossed the lines of bureaucratic punishment and into corporal. It wasn’t because they were  _ suffering _ … it was just… just…

They  _ really  _ hated him.

Pharma was loud. He was bossy. He was overbearing. He was a million other things that Kaon could rant about when they were in the common room and Tarn wasn’t. He took authority from Tarn as an excuse to push  _ them _ around, and was blatantly playing  _ chicken _ by now. He was  _ daring them _ . He was  _ fragging with them _ .

_ And they had to take it. _

As Pharma made his snippy little order, Tesarus peered down at him. His face was impassive as he recollected a brief conversation.

_ “He doesn’t even  _ **_do_ ** _ anything!” Kaon complained for the umpteenth time as the tight order of the ship was thrown into disarray by the newest - and most unwanted - arrival. Vos hissed in agreement next to him. “He’s a waste of space!” _

_ “Don’t let Tarn catch you saying that,” Helex warned as he glanced up from his datapad. He’d mastered the art of ghosting around the ship despite being a big walking vat of sloshing molten metal, and so managed to experience Pharma the least of them. Even so, his grip on his datapad tightened a fraction. _

_ “Tarn can’t be  _ **_serious_ ** _ ,” Kaon continued. “What is he even doing here?” _

_ Vos exchanged a look with Tesarus. It was one that said many things. Kaon knew it too, even as he asked. _

_ Tarn was absolutely screwing that piece seven ways to the galaxy rim. It was incredibly obvious, given his new mellow, relaxed nature and frequent disappearances with Pharma, on top of his order. Now, they normally would encourage these things, even with an Autobot traitor, because a happy Tarn was a nice Tarn. A happy Tarn let them drink and sleep in. A happy Tarn was more willing to overlook mistakes. A happy Tarn was basically party time, in DJD terms. _

_ Except… it wasn’t  _ **_just_ ** _ fragging. There was something going on that was distracting Tarn. And though they were loathe to admit, they were beginning to wonder if Tarn was hitting that for another reason besides getting his gear stick greased. _

_ It was quite sickening, really _ .

He could put his fist in that face within a second. He could just  _ step _ on Pharma, and he would lose most of his lower half. But Tesarus did none of those things and shuffled to the side instead, giving room for Pharma to pass.

Their world was dictated by a few things. They were all violent murderers who dealt with their fair share of politics in-house. Suspicions, dislike, all of that was good, because DJD infiltration was a dangerous idea in their business. More than a few rats had been sniffed out because they couldn’t keep up. In their fragged up little world, however, one rule was unshakeable.

Don’t. Frag. With. Tarn.

You didn’t question him. You didn’t mess with him. You don’t question his loyalty, you don’t ask for his face, and you don’t  _ ever _ push the clearly delineated lines between him and everyone else. The DJD had incidents in the past where Tarn single-handedly wiped out whole division generations because someone got cocky and decided they wanted to ride the command chair. Kaon was the oldest standing member aside from Tarn, and he had a wealth of stories of where Tarn absolutely  _ whipped _ some members for crossing a line. As long as you flew within the given airspace, Tarn could be a great comrade, commander, and a useful person to have on your side.

But do otherwise, and he wouldn’t hesitate to wipe your internals from his treads five seconds later.

So when Pharma got uppity, he was backed up by a black shadow with burning eyes. When Pharma snipped and snapped, Tarn’s authority held him up. When he crossed lines that they could not, it was because Tarn _ let him _ . And even though they questioned it, even though they resented it and grated under it, they allowed it to happen.

Tarn would not kill over a dead Autobot, no. But he could and he would over broken rules.

So as long as Tarn was enamored with his ‘bot traitor, as long as he wanted that valve, as long as Pharma had him wrapped around his stupid, disgusting,  _ smug _ little pinkie, then the DJD was expected to bend in the same direction as Tarn. If not… well, Tarn wouldn’t hesitate to break their spines to ensure they did.

 

The only good thing about sharing a space with lumbering, ugly Decepticons was their helplessness in his presence. Oh, Pharma was thoroughly aware of how much they disliked him. It came naturally to him, and it wasn’t limited to mecha prone to hating anyone bearing a different badge. People never truly liked Pharma, and as a result, Pharma didn’t like any people. He had only himself, and that was exactly whom he looked out for.

He almost wished the behemoth had not shuffled aside. His wings fluttered in irritation as he passed, not sparing the ugly mech another glance. He was the most precious good aboard this entire ship, and he could do as he pleased.

It was invigorating, this kind of power. And a refreshing change from actually being in charge. No one looked to Pharma for orders or solutions. He could go about his bloody business, taking apart whatever mech or piece of one he ordered. Tarn was a lovely dog, bringing his master every toy Pharma could possibly desire.

And the interfacing was just  _ stellar. _ Every night had become a blissful expanse of time to rest, with Pharma bringing up his regular three hours to nine. Nearly always, he was wrapped into Tarn’s heavy arms, the mech curled around him protectively. Not that anyone would dare lay a hand on him, but Tarn had possessive qualities that would come to light the more time Pharma spent with him.

And Tarn also had some lovely things in his possession. Engex, inner energon, curious pieces of classical art, libraries of music...Pharma  _ remembered  _ the kind of life where he’d been able to afford all of these things (yes, even the inner energon. Some circles had made it an exclusive dining experience), and he appreciated the chance to live like that again. As he was meant to.

Pharma might even be happy, if it weren’t for Tarn’s bumbling, glaring buffoons.

 

In the midst of the cold war brewing on his ship, Tarn was quite satisfied with himself. Pharma was his to have - as long as he was amused by his toys and luxuries, he was as pliant as warm putty. Tarn no longer needed to demand his way into Pharma’s valve - he was practically pulled in, welcomed and invited by someone who was as eager as he was. Every night was restful with Pharma curled up next to him, tame and quiet.

In exchange for what he provided, Pharma worked. Tarn watched him, at first, before contenting himself with covert surveillance on the medibay cameras instead. As long as Pharma did nothing to attack him or the Cause, he was allowed free reign.

The matter of Tarn’s disease, however, was still unclear. Tarn was learning quickly, however, and it became apparent that Pharma answered readily when he felt properly seduced and coaxed. Fear and pain would just set him back, unless Tarn was  _ truly _ angry.

So when Tarn found him curled up in the collection room, clearly enjoying the luxuries of cut-crystal silverware, free-flowing energon, and the vast collections of art - literature, music, anything for the rich and cultured - that Tarn had, he knew to time his approach. His steps had to be loud enough to be heard, but quiet enough to not discomfit. Pharma had to be approached like a wild creature - carefully and gently. The kiss he’d press on him had to be slow enough that he could pull away if he wanted, and deep enough to thrill him.

In exchange for this pageantry, Tarn could mine his thoughts for information couched in lazy questions. He could probe Pharma’s plans and ideas, and guide him to concepts more beneficial for Tarn. It was a delicate dance that didn’t always work, but it was enjoyable enough that Tarn didn’t mind  _ too  _ much.

“Reading again?” he murmured as he kissed the edge of Pharma’s audial. Tarn leaned over the back of the couch - another move to set Pharma at ease, as it gave him a small barrier to move from if he wanted. “I thought I would find you in the medibay again. You seemed like you were ready to move into it altogether when I brought you in.”

 

“I had some ideas that needed immediate preparations to be arranged for.” Pharma answered, lazing on the couch, no longer on edge whenever Tarn approached him carefully. He might react like a cornered, wild animal, but right now, he was content in his cage. Tarn treated him with velvet gloves and that eased the paranoia that had taken hold of Pharma on Messatine. Now, he was in control of his fate, and the game he played with Tarn resembled a productive, homely couple, rather than two enemies playing with every weapon they could point at each other.

“And now I’m finding some interesting literature helpful to my research. I had no idea you had such an extensive library of medical documents at your disposal.” 

He patted the pad in his hands affectionately, reading through the works of mecha long dead.

 

Ah, Pharma was receptive this time. Tarn circled the couch slowly, as if he was doing it only on a whim. He lifted Pharma’s legs and placed them on his lap as he sat, every picture of the interested partner. 

“I think that Cybertron’s medical accomplishments are as every bit important as its arts and history,” he said, keeping his touch modest for now. “Which section are you on? I’ve read that before - though obviously, it was of no use to me as I had none of the background knowledge to base things off of.”

Admit to ignorance, puff up Pharma’s ego. He liked to talk longer when there was an opportunity to show off his own expertise.

 

Pharma smiled to himself. Of course Tarn had no knowledge of complicated medical texts. The fact that he’d read this piece of work didn’t make any difference to that. He would have liked to see Tarn sit here, with a glass of something, trying to make sense of what he was reading, pretending he was smarter than he was.

“I find Taciturn’s work on ununtrium quite fascinating. The composition of it is difficult to replicate, and it has more applications than mere coatings. It’s a simpleton’s notion to use it as mere armor, when it could be doing so much more work for the internals.”

 

“That would be revolutionary.” And useful. A part of him sneered at the minor insult, because the Phase Sixers had clearly proved to be challenge enough that it didn't matter how simple the notion was. It  _ worked.  _ He bit his glossa, however, and nodded along.

“I thought you would continue your work on diseases. Given your… success last time, I wanted to see if that could be replicated or improved.” Tarn stroked Pharma. “But you might be pleased at our next target, then. Overlord can be my next gift to you.”

Lean in, kiss a servo. Always make it benefit Pharma. “You would have more ununtrium at your disposal than many of the mecha did in those texts.”

 

“What makes you think the two are unrelated?” Pharma smiled, pleased with this show of affection and submission. Tarn was many things, but so far, not a liar where it concerned Pharma's research. He gave him opportunity and material plenty to do bad things to the universe.

Overlord would be a good subject. A plentiful source of ununtrium and a triple changer at that. Pharma could think of plenty of projects to conduct on his corpse.

“I look forward to dissecting him.”

 

“So they are?” That was an interesting… and worrying… notion. He was not quite sure what diseases and impenetrable materials had in common, but it would surely wreak havoc in Pharma’s servos. Something like that needed to be treated delicately, to ensure that Pharma didn’t get  _ too _ out of hand.

“And here I was beginning to wonder if your attention had already wandered… perhaps I was wrong, then.” The topic of the Red Rust had to be broached carefully and slowly. If Pharma realized Tarn was seeking information, he would clam up. “I thought you were a perfectionist.”

 

“I am. Do not be dull, Tarn.” Pharma put the pad aside, his attention drawn entirely to the mech under his legs. There was a time when he’d be afraid of Tarn’s touch, would expect pain to come hand in hand with his proximity. But the Pharma of those days had succumbed long ago, and the one here today found pleasure in the false sense of domesticity.

“Ununtrium can serve as a base for a number of interesting agents. It is indestructible when measured against other metals we use...now think of a viral infection carried by indestructible particles. The applications that might have would be endless. Of course, you could be simple and use it to wipe out any mechanical lifeform in forms of bombs and such...but I have greater ambitions. It doesn’t have to be deadly. It can be elevating. Infect the mecha you would keep and upgrade their internals with ununtrium nanites that will fuse with their protoform. Suddenly, dumb beasts like Overlord are no longer capable of battering their betters.”

Pharma smiled, letting his fingers dance over the back of the sofa. He had plenty of ideas that could be spun out of control, wildly, and most of them concerned the selection of survivors after a handmade genocide. To remake the Cybertronian species, one had to weed out all the excess. 

“And then there’s personal improvements to be made. No one has understood how to fuse Ununtrium to a protoform, but I think I know a way.”

 

Pharma babbled and Tarn listened. This was not the first time a too-smart mech got a dangerous idea in his helm, and it would not be the last. However, Tarn still felt that, perhaps, some manner of interference might be necessary for this. He wanted weapons that could be controlled - weapons for the Decepticons. What Pharma proposed was not quite that.

“Those are dangerous ideas,” he mused, “and not just for the people you plan to test it on. There have been too many incidents in which the creators of such things found themselves at the wrong place at the wrong time. I will be quite cross if I ever find you dead because you were not careful.”

 

“I am always careful.” Pharma didn’t like to be tempered, not by the universe and not by Tarn. His ideas were all he had now, the work on them his only purpose from here on out. He was unbound by institutions, free of moral codes. Why should he stop now? Because Tarn was afraid of what he could do? Pharma revelled in the feeling of power.

“Does it make you nervous? What I can do?”

 

“I kill anything that makes me nervous,” Tarn refuted. “No, dear, I only mean to advise exercising due caution.”

Tarn’s servos inched up Pharma’s legs, touching his knee guards, then his thighs. “Those killed by hubris are the ones history laughs at the most.”

 

“Are you speaking from experience?” Pharma’s gaze glazed over Tarn, but his mind was sharply attentive. Tarn was warning him, carefully, and there was more to his words than met the optic. He clearly didn’t like the idea of an ununtrium virus. 

 

“If you call killing high castes experience, perhaps yes.” Their conversation was entering dangerous territory. Tarn leaned forward to kiss Pharma again. If Pharma wanted to take his words as they warning they might be, that was up to him. He, of all people, should know how little Tarn hesitated when it came to these matters.

“But I trust you are clever enough to avoid such problems.”

 

The kissing definitely shaved the edge off of Pharma’s suspicions. Tarn still layered his affection into his warning, which meant that Pharma could still operate within the boundaries of their game.

“Let me ask you a question, since I have your attention right here and now.”

He tilted his chin up, defiant, arrogant.

“If you could command me to work on any given project...what would it be? If I was inclined to obey you.”

 

“Any?” Tarn thought for a moment, his part in the game halted for the time. He thought about lying and giving Pharma a suitably trite, simple answer that might satisfy him. Instead, he decided on the truth. “If I am to assume you mean any project that is doable by only you… a sparkling. From us.”

That is, until Tarn was sure Pharma could make something capable of killing every Autobot in the universe in one fell blow. Until then, he could operate within his own desires, while still adhering to the Cause.

“Imagine one with both our strengths combined. A formidable notion, isn’t it ?”

That...was not something Pharma expected. His optics widened and the idle motion of his fingers stilled. A sparkling? He’d expected some form of weapon, maybe another disease that could be applied to destroy Autobots or any other enemies. He’d even expected personal upgrades for Tarn’s frame, maybe something more resilient than what he was currently armored with.

But a sparkling?

There hadn’t been any in millenia. Mecha were made by forges or factories, the sparks taken from the matrix and the fields implanted into premade frames. Sparklings were almost a myth, newly created sparks from two parents that grew their own protoform and eventually molted into a frame. They were unpredictable and difficult to study, since there was so little evidence of them existing. Pharma found himself speechless before this task.

“That’s absurd.”

It was, and it was also a challenge that he might not be able to overcome.

“Sparklings require compatible parents. You are an outlier, are you not? We couldn’t merge sparks even if I wanted to. It would kill me.”

 

Tarn shrugged as he nuzzled Pharma. “Well, there is nothing wrong with admitting that you cannot do something, Pharma. Some things are beyond even the best of us.”

Besides, simply saying that to watch Pharma’s face contort into a hundred different expressions was entertaining enough. Pharma must clearly be forgetting who he was dealing with if he expected Tarn to give him a  _ predictable _ answer.

“You asked for anything, after all.”

 

Pharma’s expression soured and determination began to overrule the doubt of why Tarn would ask for such an impossible thing. The challenge became a personal offense, and Pharma wouldn’t stand by and accept defeat.

“It is not beyond me. I simply didn’t think you’d be interested in creating a new life with me. That’s something for lovestruck _ fools _ to dream of.”

 

“Do you think I’m a lovestruck fool, then?” Tarn baited him. A half-smirk lingered on his face, waiting for Pharma to admit to it first. He could see Pharma was clearly annoyed by the idea that he could not do anything. If he wanted to scale an impossible mountain, who was Tarn to stop him?

“Are you one as well?”

 

“Far from it.” Pharma narrowed his optics. Was Tarn daring him to speak of something they both comfortably avoided? What new game was this?

Love was for mecha of a weaker caliber, and it was nothing short of a weakness to be exploited by others. Pharma never thought it possible, and he’d be an idiot to contemplate plowing holes into his own armor at this point.

“Love is for the stupid, I can ill afford such dalliances.”

 

“Quite right.” Tarn’s affection for today sufficiently allotted, he pushed off the couch and away from Pharma. “Then I leave you to it, doctor. If you think you can accomplish the impossible… do try and tell me.”

They did not love each other - they never would. The only thing that kept them from tearing into each other was an immutable attraction, and even so, that still barely held back their ruthless instincts. Their facade of love was upheld as part of the game that kept the truce, and they both enjoyed it too much to stop.

Tarn walked, mind on Overlord, the next hunt, and what had to be done with Pharma when he finally - eventually - became too much to handle.

 

Tarn walked away, his mind distant and satisfied, and he left behind a boiling cauldron of poison, now stirred and shaken.

Pharma watched him long after he was gone, examining their conversation, his actions, his request. And something struck him as deeply off-putting about it all. A sparkling was such a ridiculous idea that it seemed novel for Tarn to try and distract him with it. Once the injured pride boiled down to allow for some clarity, he could see what Tarn was maneuvering him into; and what he wanted Pharma to stay away from.

So the ununtrium virus would have to be researched quietly, whilst Pharma would do the impossible and figure out spark compatibility adjustments. 

And maybe, maybe it was perfectly ironic to test the indestructible disease he was bound to make on Tarn, who recharged oh so quietly beside him every night.

Pharma smiled to himself, returning to study the pad he’d laid aside earlier; another round of chicken was afoot.

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

This game of theirs might have gone on uninterrupted for centuries if they had the chance. Tarn and Pharma both were patient enough to manage it. However, as the corpse of Overlord was reeled in from the  _ Lost Light _ and Tarn admired his newest addition to his collection, more pressing news became apparent. With the Black Block Consortia and the Galactic Council both moving in on the  _ Lost Light’s _ remains, the DJD took it up as their solemn duties as violent xenophobic mechanisms to prevent exactly that.

What happened next was… a bit not good.

Vos and Kaon were both lost. That wasn’t the worst of it, though it was a blow to lose two members in one swipe. What they brought  _ on-board _ , however…

Every member of the DJD was fanatically loyal to Megatron - it was part of the requirements to join, after all. All of them swore unwavering faith and trust in him, but Tarn’s obsession eclipsed even theirs. He  _ lived _ for Megatron. He  _ existed _ for Megatron.

Take that away and what do you get?

 

-x-

 

Tarn was unresponsive, yet again. He remained holed up in his quarters, refusing to see anyone, refusing contact. While no one directly spoke about it (at least, where anyone else could hear), they were all thinking the same thing.

_ Is he going…? _

Surely not. Tarn was too tough for that kind of thing, right? He’d survived worse things… though none of them were quite like the loss of his guiding light. Would Megatron’s betrayal accomplish what so many Autobots, traitor Decepticons, and enemies to mechanical kind could not?

 

The gloomy mood aboard the ship was a nuisance, and a warning. To Pharma, it was becoming more obvious by the day that he ought to be seeking a way off of the Peaceful Tyranny and making his own journey, away from Cybertron. Whilst it became apparent the Autobots had, in fact, won the war, he doubted that he’d be welcomed with open arms. And besides, there was nothing to come home for. All of the prestigious social circles that he was once a part of no longer existed.

In the wake of the worst civil war the galaxy had ever known, Pharma mourned the corrupt pool of luxuries that had sparked it all. And now, he’d have to find a way to make such a place for himself, elsewhere.

Tarn was suicidally depressed. Of course he was. Such a manic, obsessive mind couldn’t handle being left without its crutch, and Megatron had been just that.

Distantly, Pharma could admire what the mech had done with Tarn. Or tried to do. His manipulations were quite something, could even give a mnemosurgeon pause for thought. But he was gone now, and the sun in Tarn’s sky had gone out.

Gone was his charm, his comments, the game. Pharma was left to hang in the wind, flapping wings and sniping commentary against a wall. 

So, Pharma prepared himself to leave. Which meant he had to access Tarn’s living quarters. They weren’t locked, but it had been made painfully clear the mech did not expect company.

He got it anyway.

Pharma was almost excited for this opportunity. A crushed Tarn might be no match for him at all.

 

He questioned if there was even a point to living anymore. Was there? Tarn could not see what it might be - what was he supposed to do without his lord’s guidance? What meaning was there to moving forward when there was nothing to go  _ to _ ?

Suddenly, everything else ceased to matter. Tarn didn’t care about maintaining the List or what his unit was doing. He couldn’t even budge a finger to find out what new thing Pharma had planned. What point was there?

Everything he’d done… had been for Lord Megatron. Every traitor killed, every Autobot slaughtered, every plot and game set up… all of it had been in the name of continuing the glory of his lord’s name.

And now…

Megatron was a traitor. A turncoat. A dissident and betrayer… where did that leave Tarn? What was  _ he _ , if Megatron could fall so low?

When the door opened, he did not care to look up. Tarn remained in his gloom, holding his mask and considering it, counting down the moments until his despair overtook him and Tarn decided living was no longer worth it.

“Leave,” he rasped, optics dull.

 

“Ugh. It reeks of smoke in here.” Pharma had no intention of leaving before he collected a few items of interest. Tarn could sit in his stink (molten cog, he could tell beyond a doubt) all he wanted, but Pharma wasn’t going to leave without a few trinkets at least.

He closed the door behind him and crossed the room, avoiding Tarn, heading for the decanter. The fact that it was full spoke volumes of the depth of Tarn’s pathetic depression, but Pharma said nothing about it, simply pouring himself a glass.

“I know you’re wallowing in the pits of despair right now, but how attached are you to your library?”

 

A spark of anger lit up inside him, and then went out just as quickly. What did it matter? What did anything matter? Pharma wasn’t even a blip anymore on Tarn’s radar. He was… worthless. Meaningless. Their game was ash and dust in the wake of his lord’s betrayal.

“I should kill you,” he said, unmoving. “You would deserve it.”

Maybe he ought. Tie up all his loose ends before taking his own life… that sounded good. His unit could move on with their lives, if they were able. Tarn was loathe to kill loyal Decepticons, even after what happened.

His optics brightened a little, and settled on Pharma. Tarn glared at him, as if making up his mind.

 

Pharma stared right back, optical ridge quirked, expecting more of Tarn than a blatant threat. Had he dulled so much in his depression? This was...sad, almost. Tarn was without purpose, without spark, not even taking up their usual game. It was a terrible waste of power and talent and Pharma wanted to sneer in the face of it.

“So would you. I could end your misery.”

He could. Pharma knew every way to kill Tarn if he had to, to make use of his lesser frame and lesser strength. Pharma wasn’t a combatant, but he was definitely armed. Injections could be as effective as bullets if not worse.

“Though I don’t see why you are being quite so...pathetic.”

 

“Lo - Megatron is an Autobot.” Tarn turned his mask over again, worrying its sharp edges with his fingertips. “He is a… traitor, now.”

Saying those words were actively painful. Tarn felt like he was speaking blasphemy, when it was only the truth. “You are a faithless parasite,” Tarn murmured, “how would you understand something like that? You are here already to leech.”

Again, the mask turned. He touched the welts split into the purple metal. “Do you still want to kill me, Pharma?”

 

“Not as you are now. You’re more miserable than I could ever hope to make you.” Pharma took a deep sip, settling in for a conversation to determine the future of his continued stay with the DJD. Without the Decepticons, there was no need for this elite hunting squad to exist.

 

“This may be your only chance,” Tarn replied. Of course Pharma would enjoy his suffering - it would be typical of him to relish Tarn’s downfall just as much as Tarn had relished his. “Unless you’ve lost your nerve for that sort of thing?”

A part of him was offended at the thought of dying to Pharma. Most of him could not even begin to care. Death was death. After what Megatron did, how could Tarn be brought any lower?

 

“I’ve had chances every night you chose to recharge beside me. Believe me, Tarn, I do not need your invitation.” Pharma measured how much was left in the decanter and decided to pour the rest of it into his glass as well. It didn’t look like Tarn was joining him for a drink.

“It is not a loss of nerve. But I had hoped you would see that I’ve come to enjoy the company and direction you provided.”

 

Pharma, come to enjoy something enough to hesitate in killing it? Hardly. Tarn snorted in disbelief. “And that is why you are preparing to leave after stealing from me. You can lie better than that, Pharma.”

He eyed the energon going into the glass. He wished he could get drunk, but alas, his lord looked down on drinking and…

His optics dimmed again. Not his lord anymore.

“You’re enjoying  _ this _ , however.”

 

“I didn’t say anything about stealing. But I won’t let you waste more than you’re already planning to.” Pharma knew this conversation had to be guided with velvet gloves. Tarn wasn’t indulgent anymore, he was desolate. He needed to find his path to Pharma on his own, and enjoy doing it. Only if he could be intrigued could he begin to be converted to worshipping a different sun in his sky.

Pharma had decided that he’d rather have Tarn at his pede, worshipping and loving him, than seeing him dead. One night, he’d hovered over the sleeping tank with a syringe full of poison that would make Tarn bleed in the prettiest ways, and he’d hesitated. That was his first indication that he may have changed his mind from delaying his kill to something better.

 

It should have been warning enough for Tarn to be wary. But this newly adrift Tarn couldn’t have played with Pharma on an even footing even if he wanted to. He was in too much shock to think as he did. “You won’t let me?” he asked, sardonic. “And what would you do, then?”

 

Ah, good. A coherent Tarn would have sneered at the suggestion, would have spun him a new trap to reveal his plans. This one now was barely putting half a pede of effort forward. Pharma knew when he had the upper hand, and when not to smite someone with it. He made his way closer to Tarn. Carefully. Slowly. 

“I can’t stop you from whatever dark end you’re dreaming up for yourself, but that doesn’t mean I can’t mourn what will go to waste.”

He inspected a trophy on a case, now bearing a fine layer of dust. Unthinkable, to the Tarn he cherished as a foe.

“All that time and dedication, your belief almost fooled even me into thinking there might be some worth to your cause. Not enough to join it, of course, but I admit, I did admire your fanatic devotion.”

 

_ He’s lying _ , something told Tarn. Of course he was, Pharma always lied. But… but did it matter, this time? What was one more lie, on top of the mountain of lies his life had become? Tarn saw the bait, but he bit anyway.

“A waste? You would know something about that.” Tarn watched Pharma thread closer. He twitched, as if to move forward, but stilled at the last minute. “It was wasted. Megatron… did not deserve it.”

That was the painful truth, at the end of all things. Megatron had  _ abandoned _ him. Tarn had always been loyal, up until Megatron decided Autobot lies were more fitting for his audials.

 

_ But I do. _

Pharma pretended to take a minute to find his words. He’d thought about how to exactly approach this conversation long before he arrived at the door. Tarn needed better defenses if he thought he could keep Pharma from reading him like a decrypted datapad.

“He did not.”

Carefully, he’d have to breach the subject of Megatron sooner or later. Might as well weave it into the plan.

“It does not feel good to be abandoned by those that held your faith. I know that  _ too  _ well. But there is purpose in every twist of fate. It helped me push the boundaries of what I thought myself capable of. “

He took a sip. Couldn’t make this all about himself, or Tarn would grow disinterested in his depressive state. He also couldn’t make it not about him, because Tarn would grow suspicious instead.

“Are you still a Decepticon, Tarn?”

 

...was he? Tarn glanced back at his mask, at the symbol he’d worn as his face for countless years. He believed in the Cause still… but how could the Cause still stand, when Megatron had turned his back on it? What did it mean when the creator sought to denounce and destroy his creation?

Was he a Decepticon? Was he still loyal?

...could he still be loyal, when that was not reciprocated?

What meaning did that even hold, anymore? What meaning did this  _ symbol _ hold? Tarn was defined by Megatron, had been built and made by him to uphold his words - words that were now worthless. To be a Decepticon now meant to be lied to. It meant being abandoned. It meant being part of a revolution that Megatron turned his back on, for the easier route.

Why should  _ he _ be loyal when Megatron was not?

Megatron abandoned him. 

So it was only right to do the same.

His claws curled around the mask. Tarn broke it and crumpled the two halves in his servos, ignoring the way the sharp edges managed to cut into his palms. “No,” he said hoarsely. “Not anymore.”

 

How  _ wonderful. _

Pharma could see that Tarn was anything but elated, but he’d just made a major breakthrough in his own reasoning and taken the first step necessary to free himself of the burden of answering to someone else.

He approached Tarn, daring to be close enough to be within reach, one blue servo reaching out to fold over Tarn’s hand. Or a few claws, as that was all he could cover.

“He took away your purpose. Aren’t you angry at him? I was angry...still am, at the Autobots, for leaving me behind. But they’ll pay for it. They’ll  _ all  _ pay.”

 

His servos clenched into fists. Tarn was never far from anger - a trait that Megatron had purposefully trained into him. And now, that very anger that he encouraged was getting stoked by Pharma’s deliberate, slick little words.

“What do you want?” he asked, growling. “What is your  _ point _ ?”

Megatron had left him. There was no need to rub it in.

 

“I’m not saying anything. What I want, that is none of your concern right now. But what I am wondering is how a mech such as you can take such insult done to yourself and to your work and just lay down and accept it.”

Pharma removed his touch, but kept close, within range. It was important for Tarn to focus on him, still, and not his dark thoughts.

“Isn’t it your right to exact revenge? You of all, you have reason and means. You still have purpose, you just have to find the right target. And you know what it is.”

 

In a better state of mind, Tarn might have managed to ignore Pharma’s dark words. Now, however, they were exactly what he wanted to hear. Words of vengeance, retribution,  _ punishment _ … they were a balm on Tarn’s battered spark.

His gaze lifted and for the first time in days, they seemed to smolder with internal flame. Tarn glowered at Pharma but did not deny his words. In one lifetime, he would have killed him for speaking such. Now… he listened.

“Revenge?” he murmured. “That is…  _ he _ would deserve it. A traitor is always a traitor… in his own words, he is damned.”

He stilled. “What are  _ you _ gaining from it?”

 

“Perspective.” Pharma didn’t hesitate to pounce on that glimmer of darkness, that seed of anger he merely needed to fan. This fire would consume Tarn and once he tasted triumphant ashes, he’d remember who drove him forward.

“If you are capable of asserting yourself, your strength of will would be proven to me. I would find that far more commendable than following any cause. I’ll see if you're really a mech worth fearing, rather than a traitor’s sad puppet. ”

 

“You're offering yourself?”

Tarn lay in wait now, like a mighty beast that had only recently awoke. He watched Pharma dully, but it only took a second for him to flare into action. The anger in him had been roused, but not enough to make Tarn  _ burn _ .

His servo wandered up to his face and pushed into the scar. Newly healed, thin derma was crumbled and destroyed as he dug his claws in deeper, scratching and hurting. Rusted flakes of metal fell from where he scratched.

“And what, pray tell, would I do with you?” Tarn’s obsession with Pharma remained dormant for now, overtaken by the recent shock. He was in no mood to play. Now, he wanted to rebuild his world and find where everyone was meant to  _ fit _ . He wanted  _ answers _ and the scheming glint in Pharma’s optic told him that he had enough answers for every question Tarn had.

 

“Nothing you have not already done,” Pharma had to lay this out so carefully, he was afraid even a wrong breath at the wrong time could ruin it. A house of cards, that’s what this sort of scheme was called, wasn’t it? 

Delicately, he had to rouse Tarn’s anger, without allowing it to be directed at him. With the mech’s volatile depression, he also couldn’t stoke the flames of wrath too quickly, lest they grew out of control. 

“And what I offer is, of course, incomparable to your own measure of loyalty; but I would follow you more readily than any farsighted Cause. You, I can have faith in. You, I can side with. Be it diseases, cures, ununtrium-infused soldiers, sparklings; I would put it at your disposal.” 

Pharma smiled, gently, enigmatically, reaching out to still the massive arm attached to the claw fiddling with Tarn’s face. He couldn’t force it to stop, but sometimes, gestures of confident trust that Tarn would not flay him for attempting could sway the tankformer’s good or ill will.

 

“And when a better opportunity comes along?” he rasped as his servo stilled. His optics narrowed suspiciously. “What of when the situation is not always so comfortable? When you think you see a better chance at hand? What  _ then _ ?”

Tarn did not easily forgive nor forget. He and Pharma both knew the mech had fully intended to leave until something changed his mind. His handsome face grew cold, piercing, as if he meant to open Pharma up with his optics alone.

“You are loyal to no one but yourself.”

 

“And what if I told you that I _ could _ be loyal to you?” Pharma knew this was a risky argument to make. He’d proven how well he took care of himself, how many backup plans he made just for his own sake. It would be tough to convince Tarn of something else, but it was the absolute best shot he had at gaining the mech for himself.

And that was precisely his goal. Tarn’s fanatic tendencies were inherent to his person. With Megatron cut out of the picture, he was in freefall, and all Pharma had to do was catch him without making his intention blatantly obvious. 

Tarn was still sharp, raw and suspicious. It was not without challenge, this task Pharma had set in front of himself.

“You may not believe it right now, or tomorrow, or the day after that. But you  _ know _ me, Tarn. You know what I intend. I want to be free. I want to work on things that interest me. I want to be treated as I ought to be. And you know how to make that happen, for me. You and I are no fools; we have very mutually beneficial features, and that is all that connects us. But it is more than I have ever had, with any faction, or person. It is enough reason for me to stay, if you have the strength to stand on your own. If not, then I would be pleased to end your misery and mine.”

Pharma withdrew two vials from his subspace and balanced them on a nearby surface. A viscous, yellow liquid filled both of them, marbled by a sickly red.

“I have nowhere left to go but here. I need  _ you _ .”

 

He glanced at the two vials before looking back at Pharma. Pharma’s words were as pretty as his face, painting a beautiful picture of loyalty and partnership. Tarn wondered if he practiced it, or if it simply came to him in a stroke of inspiration.

Did he mean it? Did he lie?

Pharma always lied. That had been Tarn’s personal mantra since meeting him. He always lied.

_ He’ll leave you. _

If Megatron left him, why wouldn’t Pharma?

_ They will  _ **_always_ ** _ leave you _ .

Violence sparked through his eyes. Tarn hunched on himself - not for self-defense, but like a predator readying to pounce.

_ So give him no choice. _

The vials were swept away to shatter on the floor. Tarn surged forward and grabbed Pharma by the throat, pushing him back until his back was pressed to the opposite wall. His grip was not painful, but it was firm, and Tarn growled hotly. “Very well,” he hissed, “I  _ accept _ . But if you are ever found to be untrue, Pharma… I will kill you. And you will find no amount of trickery, negotiating, or deceit can save you in the end.”

 

The explosion of violence was to be expected. Pharma saw the warning signs of it, but made no move to evade. Tarn needed to feel as if he was in control of the situation. Tarn needed to find him subservient and enticing, something Pharma had not always strove to be. Sure, he could be coaxed and play tame, but he was never truly that. 

Now though, it was an essential weapon in his arsenal. He looked at Tarn, his usual poison scrubbed from his glossa as he inched towards what he wanted. 

“That is perfectly reasonable.” 

He swallowed under Tarn’s grasp, wrenching control over his instinct to try and flee back to himself. Slowly, he caressed the claw pinning him. And even slower, he unlatched his chestplate, which moved apart hesitantly. The chamber stayed firmly spiralled together, but the surrounding sentio was exposed nonetheless.

“Mark me, then. I’m yours.”

 

He stared. What else could he do? Pulling open one’s plating was a mark of trust near unheard of in the war zone their culture had become. Only friends and lovers did such a thing. For two people who were perpetually in a power struggle, still technically aligned with opposing factions?

It should have been impossible.

Tarn was  _ fascinated. _ He has seen spark chambers before but they had always been damaged by his talent or his rending claws. He’d never quite paused to appreciate the innate beauty of sentio metallico. It was a lustrous metal, teeming with hundreds of impossible colors that swirled around each other like kaleidoscope snakes. When he touched it, it was warm. Alive.

They were breaking each other's boundaries yet again. It seemed to be all that they did, as if the previous hundred times were not enough. Pharma had done it when he dared to show his chamber and Tarn then continued it by touching the most vital protection around his very spark. This was the territory of lovers, not enemies like them.

Were they even enemies anymore?

He leaned down, still touching the chamber like something precious, and kissed it. It was electric under his lips and Tarn could feel each pulse of his spark within, so close that he felt as if he could press closer and swallow it.

 

He was offering his most precious parts to the hungry maw of a beast. Pharma should feel terrified, but instead, he was alive with thrill. Tarn could kill him, in such an intimate and tender way. Tarn could scar him, ruin him, and yet, Pharma waited with bated breath for pain that would not come. When the mech leaned close and kissed the living metal that was the heart of his protoform, Pharma shuddered. Not with dread, but anticipation.

They’d shared far too much to be called enemies, and yet they would not succumb to the stupidity of love. They were both smarter than it, and perhaps incapable. Pharma, too entangled with himself and Tarn, too ruined by the shaping hand of Megatron.

Pharma’s spark swirled behind the spiral lock of his chamber, an agitated, blue glow radiating from the inside. Perhaps he’d craved this after all; for someone to reach within him, recklessly ignoring what should separate acts of trust from acts of purposeful manipulation.

 

He wanted to do more. He wanted to dig his claws in deep and devour Pharma from the inside out. The siren call of his spark was enchanting, bewitching. Tarn wanted to feel it warm his face and burn his lips, to cauterize the wounds too deep inside him to be reached by any healing tool.

_ Mark me,  _ Pharma had said.

The badge of his former self would no longer do, however. That was not him anymore. To give Pharma that meant to  share him with Megatron, and Tarn could no longer stand to do that.

He would only be Tarn’s.

So he wrote the one thing that mattered to Tarn. The only thing he asked from Pharma.

_ Loyal _ .

With his claws, he marked Pharmrma irreversibly.

 

It hurt. Of course it did, Tarn’s claws were carving into his sentio metallico. But it also felt good, because Tarn was taking the well-placed bait, stepping into Pharma’s ploy so willingly it was almost too good to be true. Pharma grit his teeth and bore the pain, because the reward would be so, so worth it.

The word burned in his sentio and his mind.  _ Loyal _ . It revealed more of Tarn that he only could guess at. It was what the mech prized the most, and Pharma would have to deliver it. But he saw no problem attaching himself, it meant security and power and those were what Pharma wanted. Tarn would be an excellent tool, and all it cost Pharma was a little scratch where no one could see it.

Tarn lingered. As if it was not enough. Pharma could feel his spark slip tendrils through the spiral, leaving small scorch-marks on Tarn’s derma that would fade quickly. 

 

The glyphs were an abrupt interruption in the sentio, one that  _ he  _ made. The perfect beauty of it was no more and Tarn then thought he'd never something anymore lovely in his life.

The little scorches of the plasma were more than acceptable - he turned his face to them, feeling each one as it seared him.

“Pharma,” Tarn said, face lit up by the blue glow of his spark, “if we could merge - would you?”

 

No. He absolutely would not. That was the first thought that raced through Pharma’s mind. If Tarn could see all of Pharma, his death would not be far behind. There was reason to Pharma’s madness, and there was necessity to his selfish nature. No one naturally liked Pharma. Even when he’d been trying to be social, to be gracious and humble. It had become obvious that once he excelled in his calling, other people fell behind, away, and into jealousy. That easily grew into hatred, and so Pharma grew defensive to protect himself.

Tarn would see his plans, his ploys, and the fragile dependency on him that Pharma was developing. The addiction was already in plain view, but so much worse could follow.

And yet...wouldn’t it be the ultimate victory? If Tarn was ever enthralled enough with Pharma to put him on a pedestal the same way he did with Megatron...then, Pharma could become vulnerable for him. Because then Tarn would worship him so much that he’d forgive and understand in his blind devotion.

So it was not a lie when he whispered his answer to the difficult question.

“I would. If only to show you my sincerity. Nothing is as it was before, Tarn. You and I...we are different now.”

 

“I will keep that in mind.” Tarn purred as he rubbed his face against the chamber. He almost wanted to demand that Pharma open up fully, but then he would possibly never let him close again.

“You will stay. With me.” Tarn clung to that last thread of loyalty with heated zeal, as if backing away might make him disappear. “You are mine now.”

Pharma didn't understand what he walked into, the dear. 

 

Pharma could only hope none of Tarn’s face would crumble off and pollute his chamber, what with the rust on that scarring. He’d have to attend to that, when his mech was more mellow. His mech...how odd. Pharma never bothered to solidify any ties he made before. This would be his pet, his weapon, his shield. Tarn could fulfill all of those roles as he thought himself to be the master of Pharma.

But who was guiding whom here? Pharma wanted to smile like a lazy cat, but instead, he moved his delicate fingers over Tarn’s helm.

“I am. And there will be no more of all our previous spiels, Tarn. There is nothing you must threaten me with, and I in turn will not have to contemplate how to rid myself of you if your temper sways. The universe is full of ours enemies. We should terrify them, not each other.”

Whatever this unholy alliance was, it would be tremendous.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Kaon wasn’t quite sure what to make of the change that came over Tarn after the Megatron Incident. After he’d gone into his rooms for seclusion, refusing to see any of them, he’d emerged just as suddenly newly invigorated. It was as if a second life had been breathed into him by mysterious forces, providing both purpose and motivation.

Whatever lead to it, he was sure it was Pharma’s fault. Not that Tarn emerging from his suicidal depression was a  _ bad _ thing, no, no, it was just that…

… it was a little  _ odd _ .

First, Tarn had called a unit meeting. To everyone’s immediate discomfort, he was not wearing his mask. To everyone’s relief, Pharma was not invited. There, he explained Megatron’s betrayal at length (though calling it betrayal made many of them twitch guiltily and check over their shoulders, as if their former lord might be standing there awaiting an explanation) and what was to be done about it. He made sense, of course - Tarn usually did, if you squinted and turned your helm a little to follow his logic. In the most starkest terms, Megatron was a turncoat traitor who needed registration on the List. However, he was  _ fragging Megatron _ .

It was just that Megatron didn’t need explaining or justifying - he was Megatron. His  _ name _ was a justification in of itself. Megatron did what Megatron wanted, and the DJD was - technically - there to enforce the will of their quasi-god. Well, up until now. Going to the Autobots was Not Allowed. Even for Megatron. That was the whole  _ point _ .

So, essentially - Megatron was allowed to do everything but that One Thing that he’d gone and done. So the DJD, therefore, had to punish him. Even if they cringed internally at the idea. Building up anger could happen once they could bring their minds around to the idea of actually  _ being _ angry at Megatron. But their job was laid out quite firmly in front of them.

Tesarus raised his servo around this time. “So - er - why aren’t we going to Cybertron?”

“We need to prepare,” had been Tarn’s succinct answer. The DJD were immediately wary. Prepare could mean many things in Tarn’s personal language. Sometimes, it meant something as simple as  _ we’re going downstairs to shovel so much nuke into our systems that we’ll taste colors for the next month _ . Sometimes, it meant  _ say goodbye to rest, relaxation, and peace of mind until I have had enough of grinding your plates into the ground _ .

Helex elbowed Tesarus for the question. Rather appropriately, Tesarus was beginning to look queasy. Being comprised of ununtrium-coated blades meant slag if your superior could beat you up with his voice. If Tarn was extra moody, he would make sure to use his power while listing their flaws and failures because he could be could be a  _ real  _ slagger like that. He’d probably do it while enjoying a drink too.

“Alright,” Kaon quickly said before Tarn could get any new administrative ideas in his helm. “Prepare. What are your orders?”

“Set a course for Deathsaurus,” Tarn replied. “His warworld is necessary.”

“His… warworld?”

“Yes.”

“We’re taking his warworld.”

“I said that.”

“Just… like that?”

Vos was already beginning to think about where the manuals for warworld maintenance was. Kaon, as the ship’s navigator, joined Tesarus in looking queasy.

“Is Deathsaurus going to be punished as well?”

“I will make the call once we arrive.”

Ah. Tarn-speak for  _ let’s see how much he can piss me off first _ .

“Alright,” Kaon said weakly. “We’ll… get on it.”

“Good,” Tarn huffed, sounding pleased. “I’ll be in my quarters if you need me. Dismissed.”

They didn’t leave until Tarn did. Once Helex was sure he was out, he said, “He’s going to go frag the slag.”

“Helex!” Kaon hissed.

“What?  _ Everyone _ knows it. You know it!”

“We don’t talk about that!”

“Do you think… he could  _ talk _ Tarn out of it…?” Tesarus offered slowly, and all optics rounded on him. Well, all except for Vos. He was busy looking through Tarn’s alphabetically ordered, color-coded files in the ship’s memory banks for the manual  _ Your Warworld and You: Maintenance, Management, and Miscellaneous _ . He’d downloaded specifically for this instance.

“Absolutely not,” Kaon said, waving a finger at him threateningly. His coils crackled ominously. “We are  _ not _ asking the slag to frag Tarn into being reasonable.”

“He wants a  _ warworld _ ,” Tesarus replied, all four servos spread in appeal for reason. “Pits, even Deathsaurus made sure to take his three hundred with him when he stole the thing!”

“Handling a warworld is  _ leagues better _ than being in debt to that rust-sucker.”

“What’s the worst that he could do? It’s not as if -”

Vos was already on it, before Kaon could even tell him to. He scrambled up and covered Tesarus’ fat mouth with his skinny servos, not letting him say anymore. Kaon and Helex, meanwhile, froze. They waited to see if the dark cosmos around them might have heard Tesarus’ words and taken it as the challenge it was.

Fragging  _ space _ . If it could get worse, it would, and the damn galaxy would make sure of it. Tesarus always forgot that rule, which was  _ probably _ why Tarn was permanently lost to Platinum-High-Caste-Valve-Seduction forever. And why Megatron turned. At this rate, they would fall into another universe  _ again _ .

Kaon tugged the Pet closer. “No. Absolutely not. We are going to the warworld, we are going to make Deathsaurus hand over the keys, and then we… prepare.”

Everyone shuddered at the word.

“I hate all of you,” Helex muttered. Vos hissed as he slapped Tesarus’ helm. “Pits, this is gonna be bad.  _ I hate all of you _ .”

To the tune of Helex’s gloomy predictions, they all mobilized. Oh yes, this was going to be bad.

Somehow, all of this was probably Pharma’s fault.  _ Somehow _ .

 

A warworld.

Known to be the size of a moon or a small planet, it was the ultimate upgrade to a measly ship like the Peaceful Tyranny. Pharma was absolutely proud of his achievements, and they were beginning to pile up nicely.

Tarn was not entirely pliant to his wishes, not yet, but the new way they worked together was rewarding. Pharma spent less time plotting the perfect assassination and more time building Tarn out of the ashes of Megatron’s defection.

It was hard work, but not beyond his skills. Tarn had various buttons that needed to be operated with precision. His sense of loyalty had to be rewarded with gestures of trust and showings of vulnerability. His voracious temper had to be awoken and directed at a worthy target (such as Megatron). His devious mind had to be distracted from his growing addiction to Pharma.

Pharma was capable of all of these things and more, and that was why he was the one to safely reside in Tarn’s quarters.

Less time was spent in the medibay, and more in the berth. Pharma made sure to lavish Tarn with reasonable amounts of affection, considering they were now a working partnership rather than enemies. He also studied fields outside of his own, largely the history of the Decepticons. When anyone had had time to record such things was beyond him, and he didn’t much care for the source material that began it all, but he needed a comprehensive understanding of what Tarn had experienced before he could make any assumptions about what was a reasonable idea and what was outside of his scope.

Conquering a warworld, now that was something decadent enough for Pharma to appreciate. Tarn had come up with the name of the mech who stole it in the first place, and Pharma made a tick on a list and dug into his repertoire of useful substances.

There was no need to brutishly overwhelm the entire warworld with weapons and a small, elite force. That was the soldier’s way of handling things.

The smart way came in an unassuming half-cube and shimmered pure silver. Pharma twirled it in his hands, satisfied with the consistency. A few drops would be enough to taint an entire energon supply, presuming one could get to the main storage facility. The beauty lay in the modified ununtrium particles that would penetrate any container, except for those already lined with the substance such as this one.

Pharma waited dutifully for Tarn to return from his meeting, though he had little interest in what the grunts had to say.

He asked anyway when the door slid open..

“How did they take it?”

 

“I think it went well,” Tarn reported. If it hadn’t, they would be tasting regret in the form of a fist in their internals. He had them well-trained, yes he did. “They are loyal and they will follow.”

Or, you know, they would die. Simple.

“What is that?” he asked, seeing the new toy Pharma was holding. Knowing him, it was an expensive new drink or something that could wipe out a star system. “You seem to have been busy today.”

 

“I worked on something that could spare you and your unit a lot of hard work.” Pharma placed the container on the table. If Tarn swept it off and threw it against the wall, it wouldn’t matter at all. Pharma made this one to last.

“Do you want to know what it is? What it can do?”

Pharma was proud of it, that much was certain. 

 

“Presumably something miraculous, wondrous, and sensationally dangerous.” Tarn took it and examined the liquid inside. He saw nothing that provided any meaning for him, but all he had to do was wait for Pharma to brag. He was fond of making sure everyone knew exactly what he’d done.

“Disease? Plate-eating nanites? Gas that drives everyone insane? Excite me.”

 

Tarn asked, as expected, and Pharma preened at the chance to dazzle him with his prowess.

“Better than any of those options, actually. I was going to make a quicker version of the Red Rust, but I had a thought as I was working. It would be a waste to have so many potential subjects, donors and, ah, soldiers die so instantly. Some of them might be useful, and some of them could be employed. If they’re cannon fodder, your unit would be less exposed to danger and you could keep loyal officers in place, ensuring command. A warworld has thousands of inhabitants, doesn’t it? The logs made a considerable estimation, and I don’t think we need to kill all of them. Maybe even none at all, if the threat is right.”

Pharma reached for the container and strolled across the room a little, placing it on the mantle as if it was a trophy by itself, right next to Overlord’s helm.

“You can thank Overlord for his donation. This is a poison, yes, but it’s so much more than that. It transforms energon, refined or raw, that makes no difference, into a useless liquid. Now, I wouldn’t want to waste an entire energon supply with it, of course, and you might ask what of energon that is already in a separate container, and that’s where things get interesting; the ununtrium particles in here are modified, and I’ll spare you the details of how I accomplished that miracle, to seek out sources of unprocessed energon. It will burn, like an acid, through any container until the source is infected. If the tainted energon is taken, consumed or refined...it will do nothing at all. It’s completely unable to be utilized by any Cybertronian life. I haven’t had the chance to test it on other species, but it will render the Warworld completely starved within two day-cycles.”

Pharma preened again and smiled as if the nasty little agent was his offspring, proud and indulgent.

“It’ll turn even the energon in their frames into sludge. Nothing but ununtrium casing can stop it, and if there are a few individuals who are coated in it, they’ll still get infected if they fuel. And, of course, I have a counter-agent that will cleanse any energon we wish to recover.”

 

Tarn drew up behind Pharma, listening to him talk while he placed his servos on Pharma’s hips and pressed a kiss to the top of his helm.

“It sounds exquisite,” he said once Pharma was finished. “I was planning on simply using my talent to subjugate them, but this sounds like a faster and cleaner solution.”

A claw ran down the slats of a shoulder vent. “Can this be kept dormant? Perhaps a switch, so that it can be activated when necessary. That way, the threat will remain even after initial infection.” 

 

“I can make adjustments for that. A Warworld sounds spacious.” Spacious enough to suit Pharma’s many whims, surely. He couldn’t wait to have his own building, maybe even a research facility, and a team to force into his service. Whilst he appreciated his new freedom under Tarn’s possession, he wanted to do less of the gritty grunt work that he currently had to perform and let his imagination soar.

Plus, a warworld would be populated with people to talk to, and although Pharma wasn’t looking for any friendship, he wanted attention and admiration. The bigger the audience, the better his reputation as a genius. It didn’t matter if they were Decepticons, there were scientists among them who could envious of Pharma’s blatant success.

Tarn’s affections behind him were noted, of course, even if they were a slight nuisance. Again, the mech sought him out, even though they’d barely escaped berth twenty minutes before the meeting. Pharma’s valve was still in cleaning mode after that exercise, but Tarn was an insatiable companion.

“And besides, Deathsaurus must know of you. He might even prepare for your talent. It is not that difficult to disable audial receptors.”

 

“It works over other frequencies,” Tarn revealed. The meeting had been just a mere interruption in his self-appointed mission to keep Pharma permanently interred in the berth. He continued to feel him up even as Pharma explained to him his latest super-weapon against mechanical kind. Someone else might have been concerned. Tarn just warmed up.

“Deathsaurus’ warworld is currently controlled by three hundred, give or take any recruits he may have picked up along the way. There would be enough space for you to own your own city block, if you desire.”

Thinking about the warworld and how to manage Deathsaurus was very good at keeping his mind busy. Tarn was in an unusually good mood, moving with new energy as he reordered everyone and everything around him almost frantically.

 

Pharma relented under Tarn’s persistent touching and he leaned back, into the mech he’d tied his loyalty to for now. Sure, he’d made something of a notion of forever, but that was far too long a timespan to convincingly determine. 

Now would have to do. He turned his helm and kissed Tarn’s ridiculously handsome face. The scarring was still there, but Pharma could live with a little cosmetic damage that the stubborn mech wouldn’t allow him to replace.

“I desire a research facility and staff, I won’t deny that. But the first order of business is to acquire the warworld and make you its commander. Or would you prefer to be called  _ my lord _ ?”

 

Tarn’s affection froze at the last two words. Suddenly, touching Pharma was not as appealing as before. He eased off, ending the kiss prematurely, and looked away.

“You don't know what you’re talking about,” he said, harsher than intended. His mouth tightened into a cold line. “Enough.”

Tarn was quick to warm. He was also quick to cool. His touch rolled off Pharma like icewater. “Make your adjustments,” he ordered. “Speak to me when you are done.”

Clearly no longer in the mood to speak to him any further, Tarn retreated to his private berthroom. Normally, he left the doors open in subtle invitation to Pharma. This time, he closed them behind himself.

 

Damn. He’d chosen his words poorly. Clearly, the wound that Megatron had cleaved into Tarn was deeper than Pharma had estimated. He cursed the mech for continuing to hold such sway over Tarn that a simple use of ‘lord’ would send him into a downward spiral.

Pharma was going to have to give him time to calm down and think of something pleasantly lewd to distract him with. After he made the control adjustment, of course.

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

It took him longer than anticipated, and Pharma slept in the medibay for three days and nights. He didn’t emerge to find Tarn until he was absolutely sure the agent was fully developed. Hopefully, it was enough time for the surly brute to remember that he was better than these petty, Megatron-inspired mood swings.

 

Without Pharma to distract himself with, Tarn threw himself into the conquest of the warworld with refreshed zeal. In this, he took it upon himself to run his unit through practice. Multiple times. Painfully.

Again, that same manic energy resurged anew. Tarn was a tireless machine, refusing to relent even marginally as he demanded more and more from his unit. Mentions of Megatron were quickly cycled out of vernacular as his unit began to realize that was how one drove Tarn from  _ slave-driving taskmaster _ to _ unreal demonic force from the Pits _ . 

As time passed, the more it became clear how thin of an edge Tarn balanced on. His mercurial moods were now as changeable as the wind, shifting between enthusiastic interest and patience to sudden cold brutality. He demanded the best but couldn’t be satisfied by anything, or suddenly sent everyone out of his presence. As the Tyranny converged on the warworld, discreet bets on how fragged Deathsaurus was began to pass around.

Tarn was dangerous, normally. Like this?

He easily surpassed Overlord, in the same way an unstable frag grenade in one’s hands was more dangerous than a missile overhead that could be redirected.

 

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to return to Tarn as an object of his interest, but Pharma had put work into his state of mind and he’d have to stabilize Tarn before they reached the warworld. Maybe it was time to tug on the pretense of lovers again, just for something easy to slide into. It wouldn’t remind Tarn of Megatron, it was something shared just between the two.

He sent him a ping and politely phrased question of whether or not he wanted company tonight, the agent was fully prepared and at his disposal and so was Pharma.

 

Tarn automatically accepted it, largely because there was never really a time anything was denied between them. Pharma had tried that in the beginning. It hadn’t worked out.

It did not mean, however, that he was any better. He prowled across the three rooms of his quarters like a caged beast searching for escape. A perpetual miasma of frantic energy followed him, as if Tarn couldn’t fit inside his plating. When he wasn’t pacing, he tapped his claws. When he didn’t tap his claws, he hummed a melody that made the walls quiver in their foundations. His optics flicked between corners, looking at everything and nothing, but pointedly avoided one space in his room.

In fact, he avoided that area entirely. It made him carve a strange, circuitous route that somehow relied on Tarn not  _ ever _ looking in  _ its _ direction.

 

Pharma took his time to make his way over to Tarn’s rooms. He had to brace himself for whatever dark mood Tarn was in. He had to endure it, and see if they could level it out to something pleasant.

Once the door slid open, he felt the atmosphere dip down. Oh boy, Tarn was going to be a moody handful.

Pharma looked around for a drink, because he’d certainly need one.

“Tarn?” he called softly, even though the behemoth was hard to miss as he prowled around.

 

“What?” Tarn’s helm twitched in his direction. He stopped and looked at him properly. The rooms were on the darker side of lit, as Tarn preferred it, and he was a dim shadow opposite to Pharma. A small trickle of energon slid down from where he’d torn through the healing layer of metal again, and the area around the scar itched fiercely.

“What did you want?” He turned and began to pace again. Tarn got to the threshold of his room, however, paused - and walked back to Pharma.

 

Tarn looked worse than Pharma remembered. The few days without him had done the tankformer no favours whatsoever, and Pharma would have to rectify that loss of direction. Tarn was worse than a petulant child; he was a murderous fanatic without an object of worship. Pharma was putting work into becoming that for him, but he still had leagues to go.

“You said to come see you once I was finished. I am. Join me for a drink.”

Pharma busied himself at the small station where Tarn kept his fine engex, but it would not be that which he offered Tarn himself to drink. A small amount of energon, a delicate pink, pooled in the glass he held out for Tarn. Inner energon had a very distinct color, and it mixed poorly with other ingredients. It shouldn’t be mixed in the first place, given its exquisite consistency, but Pharma wasn’t going to comment on the DJD’s cannibalistic rituals with the substance.

 

Inner energon had a distinctive smell, thicker and oilier than normal energon, that could be distinguished by even the most smell-blind. Tarn, a connoisseur in these things, knew what Pharma was up to. His optics narrowed.

“I thought you thought inner energon consumption was - what’s the word that you high castes are so fond of? Ah, yes.  _ Barbaric _ .” Tarn’s usual charisma had been traded in for a sharper glossa. He still came nearer, though he did not accept the offer.

“I did not realize I’d ever given you permission to cavort about my quarters like a public space.”

 

Pharma could be patient when the situation called for it, and handling Tarn here and now was definitely that. He didn’t fuss over the glass of his own, precious energon and instead took a sip of what he’d poured for himself. A little triple-filtered with rust flakes would settle his rising temper nicely. 

Tarn had some nerve, trying to intimidate him again as he did when he was blackmailing the medic.

“Do not take your mood out on me, Tarn. We are past this behavior of you treating me as a pet.” He didn’t need to add any edges to his tone, his words were pointed enough.

“Inner energon consumption in the way your unit performed it is barbaric, yes, but as a symbol of loyalty, it is hardly on a level to be lumped together with mere cannibalism.”

 

“Loyalty?” Tarn sneered. “Don’t speak of it.”

He was in no state to engage in a barb-trading session with Pharma, however, so he snatched up the glass and drained it. The normal energon floated on top, while the thicker liquid slowly drained down.

It tasted good, which annoyed Tarn more than it should have. Pharma always did, what was new?

He slammed the glass back onto the bar top. The crystal, older than the war, finely cut and of such high quality that it would not have been out of place in the Towers, creaked as his careless touch sent a hairline fissure up its side. “More.”

 

Tarn had taken the drink, and with it, the first step towards redeeming his foul mood. The fact that he demanded more had Pharma quirk a ridge. Did Tarn expect him to drain his entire core, just to cheer up the mech’s thunderous composure?

“Inner energon does not regenerate fast, Tarn. You can’t have any more if I am supposed to accomplish what you wished of me.”

Pharma recalled that conversation well, even if he had barely gotten any closer to understanding how to force sparkmerge with incompatible cores.

“If I am to make the sparklings you desire, you’ll need to drink my inner energon once a month.” 

 

“Not from the core,” he grunted. His servo grabbed Pharma’s shoulder. “Lines will do.”

He tongued the sharp point of a canine. It was nothing as ridiculous as what Overlord had, of course. Just simple piercing tools so make the hasty drinking process easier. He barely used them anyway. “You shouldn’t have given me any if you didn’t want this,” he said, anticipating what Pharma might say.

 

“I’m well aware of your tendencies.” Pharma motioned for Tarn to follow him. He wouldn’t do this out here in the sitting area. Just because he was about to encourage cannibalism didn’t mean he was going to throw manners out of the window.

The berth would be much more suitable. Pharma wound out of Tarn’s grasp and hopped up on it, transforming one finger to a scalpel as he cut through some fuel lines. On his neck, for easy access.

“I never said I didn’t want it.”

 

Tarn didn’t particularly care what Pharma’s thoughts on ‘setting’ and ‘mood’ was currently. He didn’t give him time to settle, instead snatching him up as soon as Pharma had the lines sliced open. He descended on the little lines of energon that begun to well out of the cuts, eager for a proper taste.

The piddling amount he’d been given wasn’t enough. Tarn wanted a mouthful to savor, something that he could enjoy up until he swallowed. For Pharma’s sake, he didn’t actually try to suck him dry.

He still needed him around, after all.

His taste was sweet, hot,  _ expensive _ . Pharma’s energon was inherently smoother than most, thanks to his years of good fuel consumption. The lines this energon flowed through were always pristine, always clean. It all added up to something that would be  _ ruined _ by filters.

He bit down to widen the cuts. On the outside, it looked as if Pharma were trapped in a passionate embrace with Tarn.

 

This would probably become Pharma’s least favoured thing to do with Tarn. It was all about pleasing the moody behemoth, and Pharma could glean nothing from it. It was only vaguely painful, however, so he could endure. He found his favourite spots to put his arms, moving them along the sides of Tarn’s chassis, skipping over a few details here and there, finding a seam to stroke as he held on patiently.

Really, this was all for the sake of cheering Tarn up. This should be a gesture big enough to distract the surly former Decepticon, and maybe even get him back on track and ramped up for some interfacing, which was the absolute surefire way of relieving Tarn of his heavy thoughts.

 

He stopped before he took enough to actually harm Pharma. A part of him wanted to selfishly drink on, to drain him until Pharma could not move, but Tarn withheld. He could have no more down the line if he was so wasteful now.

He gave one last final suck before choosing to kiss Pharma instead. Temporarily pulled away from his dire thoughts, Tarn nudged against him impatiently. On his better days, he treated Pharma like he was royal, revering his body with every touch. Now, he regressed back to Messatine, when his touch was always rough, always impatient, demanding Pharma give him everything and  _ now _ .

 

The regression in their relationship wasn’t particularly appreciated, and Pharma did nothing to respond to the nudge. He wanted to deepen the kiss, elevate it to how it was when Tarn was in a good mood and liked caressing him. Pharma would have no more of that bestial treatment, of Tarn rutting against him in eager heat.

He did stay close to him, however, letting the line drip energon that slid over his frame slowly. It wasn’t a threatening wound, even with how much larger Tarn had made it to be.

 

He growled as Pharma tried to slow things down to a pace more suitable to him. Had Tarn not been endlessly generous before? They could do this later - Tarn wanted to move on from that and just get to the part that interested  _ him _ . He pinned Pharma down and pushed against his thigh, demanding he move on with it.

Once again, without even realizing it, they’d slipped into a familiar power struggle. Both of them had specific ideas of how this was to go and right now, those ideas were disparate.

 

Pharma wasn’t at all happy to give up power, just to allow Tarn to work out his frustrations. If he let the mech do as he pleased, he was doing exactly that. If he denied Tarn, however, he ran a high risk of having his mood turn so sour it could be difficult to recover at all. So Pharma did what he always did, what he excelled at; he found a solution.

Lightly, he pushed Tarn off, just enough so he could move himself.

“Let me do something for you.”

Something that would keep his panels closed, for now, but still tend to Tarn’s needs.

 

Tarn halted Pharma, not appreciative of having his frag interrupted. His optics narrowed. 

“Like what?” he asked, waiting to hear him out before he made any final decision. If his suggestion wasn’t pleasing, Pharma’s aft was going to be sore for the rest of the year. Tarn shifted, impatient, and leaned closer.

“Well?” he demanded impatiently. “On with it!”

 

“Lay back, I can’t move like this.” Pharma snapped, impatient with Tarn’s bullish demeanour. He was trying to do something pleasant here and the mech was just on him like a cyberfox in heat.

Eventually, he got free and Tarn was on his back and finally, Pharma could do as he pleased. He shimmied down to the heated panel, fully expecting it to be entirely eager to go.

“You’ll like it, I promise.”

And it wasn’t like Tarn hadn’t fragged his mouth before. Pharma was never a generous lover. He liked to be pampered, and he could accept with being used, but giving pleasure to another being had never been his wheelhouse. Tarn should feel grateful, not impatient, that he was even doing this at all. 

Getting his face down to the panel was easy enough, and Pharma began to explore the region with his mouth. Tarn ran hot, as most warframes did, and that was not unpleasant.

 

_ Ah _ . So that was what Pharma intended. Suddenly, Tarn was not nearly as resistant as before. He was downright pliant, actually, moving whatever way Pharma needed him to while he watched him. He propped himself up on his elbows to get a good view of the show to come.

“Take your time,” Tarn purred, the last vestige of his poor mood vanished like mist in the summer sun. “Try and put at least half the effort you put into killing me into this.”

He would’ve liked to frag Pharma. But this? This was just an opportunity.

 

Pharma pursed his lips and bit down the comment he had ready to snap back and instead nipped at the plating. Tarn wouldn’t even feel it, but it was enough of a relief for Pharma’s frustration.

Now, just because he didn’t much like doing this didn’t mean he was a novice in these regions. Pharma had accepted plenty of affections back in the social circles of Golden Age Cybertron, and he’d picked up a trick or two along the way to improve his technique. He was a perfectionist in all areas of his life.

At least now Tarn was patient and pliant. That made everything a lot easier. Pharma nestled between Tarn’s legs, each massive limb trapping him in. Pharma made his journey over Tarn’s thighs, examining him with the optic of a physician and making use of the tiny, exposed seams that would allow Tarn to actually feel, unlike the thick plates of armor. He kissed the panel, which almost seared his lips, or at least, felt like it.

He could ask Tarn to open it, or demand he slide away the protective layer. Or, you know, do it himself, because knowing where manual releases were located was part of his all-important profession.

Tarn’s array was revealed at his behest and Pharma smiled triumphantly as he saw the beginnings of charge in the exposed circuits. Now, he could dive on the spike, of course, which would pressurize at any moment. Its girthy size would pose a challenge to get into his mouth on his own, so Pharma would have to keep Tarn entertained until he moved on to that portion.

The valve was much more interesting to him, but given that Tarn never used it, he hesitated to lavish it with attention. Pharma’s first order of business would be to place kisses that Tarn didn’t deserve on the array, letting his lips explore everything.

 

A growl started up as Tarn’s engine rumbled. It was a mixture of many things, but it was a threat above all. Tarn tensed suddenly and his optics became red slits. He offered no warning for now, however, and nothing in Tarn’s frame indicated impending violence. The chance of it was there, but it was… waiting, for now.

After the first tense second passed, Tarn allowed himself to loosen again. The newest set of claw marks in the berth grew no deeper. Heat poured off him in waves and though he was still eager, some of it was tainted with wariness.

 

Every motion towards Tarn’s valve was accompanied by the thunder of his engine and Pharma knew better than to risk anything right now. He let it be, though he had to wonder what Tarn might taste like on his glossa. Ever since kissing had become part of their exchanges, he found himself just that little bit more invested in actually having more of Tarn be known to him. 

Pharma could debate his odd impulses later. For now, he coaxed Tarn’s spike to fully pressurize, which wasn’t difficult at all. He ran his fingers over it, deeply familiar with every ridge and bump. But simply sticking it in his mouth wouldn’t do. Pharma had to position himself, had to make sure his face was visible for Tarn to see, had to make sure that he could play with the anticipation of the mech. So a few teasing touches and kisses would have to serve for now, a tease of a nuzzle to the tip of the spike. Pharma tested it against a hollow cheek. Hm. His jaw was going to ache.

“Relax,” he murmured, noting the sweltering heat in the room.

 

Easy for him to say, as if he was the one getting the show of a lifetime. Tarn’s previous tension drained away as Pharma seemed to note his unsaid warning about his valve, and was replaced by building anticipation instead. Pharma was a proper minx about the matter too, clearly knowing how interested Tarn would be. Instead of relieving him, he spent his time being a tease, playing with only a few meager touches here and there.

If it didn’t look so  _ good _ , Tarn would have thrown him down for his insolence.

Once again, Pharma’s lip caught on the tip of his spike and the heat in the room ratcheted up in reply. Tarn looked like he couldn’t decide what he wanted to do more - demand that Pharma get on with it, or beg that he take his time.

 

Teasing was only half the job, and Pharma aimed to complete each part perfectly. Deciding that the roar of Tarn’s engine was loud enough to suggest serious charge, he placed one hand on the spike and pressed his lips to the tip. His smirk opened up and he took it in, not too far, not too fast, but with no more intention of teasing Tarn to his breaking point. 

It was thick, hot and familiar. Not too bad, for being a spike he couldn’t swallow around, but not too much for him to stop. Pharma knew perfectly well how he had to position his body, how to flare his field and move his glossa. This was a process as clinical as a surgery, just that the tools varied wildly.

 

Tarn’s helm bent back as his optics dimmed into a soft cherry red. For a brief moment, his touch tensed and spasmed, but relaxed just as quickly. With a sigh that was almost a hiss, Tarn reached down for Pharma. He’d always been an expert in what Tarn wanted from him. This was a far cry from the first time Tarn had fragged his mouth; Pharma was the one doing all the work while Tarn reaped the rewards.

He watched Pharma. There was something oddly, intensely appealing about seeing him size Tarn up, as if making up his mind on how to approach him in a way that didn’t involve laying back and enduring. It thrilled him to know that Pharma - proud, haughty,  _ vain _ Pharma - was enough involved in their affair to go this far, all of his own accord. No victory was sweeter.

Tarn wished he could have something to touch while his spike was treated so generously. Plating to stroke, wings to fiddle, even a servo to hold would have been find. All he had was Pharma’s helm and the surface of the berth under them both. While one clawed into the metal like warm butter, his hold on Pharma remained harmless and loose. For now, he was free to do as he pleased, as long as it was good.

It was only after the taste of energon - much more sour than Pharma’s - in his mouth that Tarn realized he’d bitten his lip enough to make himself bleed. He let go and the pain panged as Pharma’s wet, clever mouth did its best to reduce Tarn.

 

Pharma couldn’t really see Tarn’s face from this angle, but he imagined he was pretty pleased. He better be, with this amount of effort invested into his pleasure. The heat from his own array, he largely ignored, even if it was getting uncomfortable between his legs. On his knees, bent over with Tarn’s spike in his mouth, this was not a place he’d pictured himself in years ago. How the tide had changed...

It was pretty good, what he was doing, but he wanted to hear Tarn make noises. Not just the hungry growl of his engine, but real noises that he couldn’t help but make because it was just so good. Pharma gathered himself and sunk deeper onto the spike, until he could feel the girthy tip of it at the back of his intake. 

 

A noise almost escaped him, and Tarn stopped it so quickly that he choked. He’d never been the most vocal lover in that field - he threatened, he snarled, and he snapped, but he rarely actually lost control over what came out of his mouth. Sometimes, when the ‘facing was particularly good, he did, but Pharma was usually distracted enough by his own overload that he would not hear much. This time, however, there was no conflicting sensation to drown out what Tarn was doing.

Both of them realized this at the same time. And while Tarn clamped down his teeth in stubborn determination, it felt like Pharma only took that as further challenge.

Executing a feat of daring that Tarn would never have expected from him, Pharma went and broke all expectations. This time, the noise that nearly escaped the confines of his lips was desperate.

What his mouth would not spill, however, his frame did. Tarn’s hips bucked up, erratic and sudden, as if to be completely swallowed. An impossibility, assuredly, but Tarn rarely listened to reason when it went against what he wanted. His servo tightened, trying to hold Pharma in place.

 

But Pharma would not be performing well if Tarn got his way. Holding the spike in his mouth and being still would not heighten the sensation, and Pharma was a perfectionist, even here. It took a fair amount of effort to slide the spike back a little, only to move his glossa enticingly over the segments of it to stimulate the seams. Spikes didn’t have nodes, nor points where they felt particularly sensitive, but there was still plenty of things that could be done with them. Pressure, friction and heat all affected what the mech in question could feel, and Pharma worked with all of them. Slowly, he simulated the slide of Tarn’s spike into the tight, hot, and wet space of his mouth, as if he was in control and able to thrust.

He was close to surrendering a moan, that much was obvious from the shudder of his frame. Pharma redoubled his sucking efforts.

 

The suffering groan that crept its way out of Tarn’s throat was his surrender. Pharma was clearly some manner of devil, meant to bewitch, ensnare, and capture, so that Tarn was helpless in the face of what he offered. Previous concerns dribbled out of his mind to puddle meaninglessly on the floor.

He wanted to grab Pharma and frag his mouth until his intake was broken. Tarn wanted to make it violent, fierce, and needing, but anytime he tried to move, Pharma did something sinful with his mouth that made him fall back down, gasping. His tanks lurched, his spark quivered, and stuttering moans fell out of his mouth, all at Pharma’s whim.

_ Should have done this sooner _ , Tarn thought to himself, delirious.

 

This was working out better than Pharma had hoped, and he could thank his meticulous attention to detail for it. Tarn was practically writhing beneath him and the sense of victory was being overcome by white-hot, urgent need, burning under his panel. He let it slide back as his fans clicked on, just for some air circulation. His engine lurched and he almost choked on the thick spike, but Pharma was a master of self-control. Sometimes, at least. He stayed right with Tarn, sucking, licking, delivering a filthy performance for his optics and sensors alone. No one in the universe could claim to have a more dedicated blowjob performed on them, he was pretty sure, and Tarn’s mind was hopefully turning to mush.

Charge was ramping up, he could taste electricity on his glossa and he knew this wouldn’t take much longer. One of his hands disappeared from the base of the shaft, the other barely big enough to encircle half of it. The free hand snuck away, to give Pharma some much needed relief from the charge cycling through him.

 

Had Tarn been any state of mind to realize what was happening, he would have been filthily delighted by Pharma’s reaction. He would have never let him forget it. Yet here, he wouldn’t have heard Megatron if he kicked down his wall and called for Tarn.

All he could think about was Pharma’s mouth and what it was doing. Each drag of his lips, each tightening of his throat, all the obscene noises that could be heard and witnessed - it drove Tarn wild. He panted desperately as his fans gasped for air. His engine was beginning to redline from the stress Pharma put it through.

Overload was a mercy at that point. It rose in a sharp peak, a little too intense to be truly pleasurable, and practically exploded from Tarn in a storm of charge. Someone was saying Pharma’s name, and he distantly realized it was actually him. Lightning jumped from circuit to circuit, raced down his plating, and almost flooded Pharma as Tarn convulsed briefly. His servo clamped down around Pharma’s helm, holding him in place as transfluid filled his mouth.

 

Even if Pharma had tried to move away from the explosion of transfluid into his intake, he couldn’t have budged from Tarn’s iron grip. All he could do was swallow it down and shutter his optics so they wouldn’t short out from the transfer of charge. It raced through his circuits, scorching a few by strength alone and the jet was glad for the huge obstruction in his mouth, because he might have screamed right now from that charge alone. He squeezed his legs together, but the lubricant dripped down regardless, soaking his hand, his thighs and the berth beneath him.

 

Tarn took a while to get to himself. His entire system was heaving to get his systems back into normal measurements, and remnant charge continued to spark and flash over his plating. He let go of Pharma, mainly because his grip weakened, and fell back against the berth with a long groan that rumbled from deep within his chest.

He felt utterly drained. He hoped Pharma felt as half as filthy as he was, because they’d gone and made a mess of each other… again. 

 

Pharma drew back, hand to his throat, jaw aching, but satisfied with the results of his work. Tarn looked as much a mess as he, even if he wasn’t the one covered in various fluids. Pharma sat back, wiping the corners of his mouth where transfluid had dribbled out. He licked it clean, regardless of how conscious Tarn was. If this hadn’t distracted the mech from his terrible mood, he’d quit his pursuit.

Actually, Tarn continued to look out of it. Pharma took the opportunity to move his hand back to his own valve, still brimming with charge as he pressed in on the nodes. He bit his lip in delight.

“Are you going to recharge?”

 

“Mm?” Tarn tried to reach out for him, then gave up halfway. His limbs still felt limp. That overload had been a long time coming, clearly, and Pharma had found the perfect way to send it all loose.

Recharge sounded pleasant now. But Tarn was still too hopped up on charge to actually rest. While the flood was done, he couldn’t fully relax with it sparking around in him. It all had to dissipate, and who knew how long that would take?

“C’mere,” he murmured, reaching for Pharma again. His usual clarity was traded in for mumbling, thick words. “Mm, gonna hold you.”

 

Tarn was so close to recharge his optics were practically out. Pharma couldn’t resist the thick arms wrapping him up in too much heat to be comfortable, nor did he have the option to move away or make space for himself. His hand was still wedged between his thighs, but he didn’t let it disturb Tarn.

“And here I thought you no longer wished for my company.”

He quietly moved his hips back and forth, keeping his engine as muted as he could.

 

“Hush,” Tarn muttered, too into it to let Pharma remind him. He continued to hover in his state of euphoria, vaguely wondering when he might be able to feel his fingers again, when he registered the covert rocking beside him.

“What… what’re you doing?” Tarn turned his face towards Pharma, nuzzling him as he asked. 

 

“Mhm, nothing,” Pharma spoke and cursed himself instantly for sounding breathless. His overload was tantalizingly close, just on the edge of his perception, just out of reach. If only he could do a little more than drag his nodes over his hand, he could be enjoying the same bliss that lulled Tarn to recharge.

 

Tarn had a better sense than most for Pharma. And his sense for finding weaknesses in the mech was perhaps the one most refined of all. Tarn roused marginally, just enough so that he didn’t see two of Pharma whenever he looked in his direction.

“Show me,” he demanded, reaching to see what he was up to. Discovering his servo jammed between his thighs was easily done, and Tarn stilled before a rakish, knowing grin spread across his face.

“You got charged up over that,” he said, not as a question.

 

“Tch.” Pharma turned his face away, marginally ashamed of the state things had put him in. Yes, he got charged up over that. But Tarn was at fault, with that abundance of charge that wouldn’t have left anyone cold. Perhaps Pharma needed to evaluate just how much effect the mech had on him, and make better decisions based on his findings.

For now, he kept his hand in his valve, because shame was a thing he abandoned alongside morality.

“Don’t think too much on that.”

 

“Why shouldn’t I?”

Tarn was clearly radiating smugness now. He leered at Pharma, at the pretty picture he made, curled up next to Tarn and self-servicing like it was normal. Pharma would have  _ choked _ at the thought of doing something like this before.

“Maybe I should frag your mouth every time if it makes you this desperate.” Tarn touched the servo between Pharma’s legs and felt the wetness there. “To think you call  _ me _ insatiable.”

Tarn slid a thick finger through the slit, feeling the swollen nodes pulse as he touched them, along with the grasping, quiet desperation Pharma had tried to hide from him. The tight core of heat here was still present, it seemed, given how tense Pharma seemed.

“How…  _ degenerate _ .”

 

Pharma openly sneered at him. Tarn just couldn’t resist making something out of nothing. Wasn’t he the one gasping through an overload just minutes ago? It was pretty rich of him to turn on Pharma now like this.

But the thick finger was better to grind against than his own, slim digits. Pharma let Tarn replace his hand and he sighed.

“You don’t need to clutch at straws to insult me, Tarn. Especially after I did such a good job at reducing you to an overload with a vocalizer.”

 

“I can do better,” Tarn challenged. He withdrew his servo and grabbed Pharma’s hip. “Come up, if you think you’re capable.”

He indicated his own mouth, which was still a smug smirk. “I can handle your weight. That is, if your legs can still move given how busy you’ve been.”

He leered at again, obviously enjoying the view. 

 

Oh, Pharma could move alright. And he was going to use every ounce of that challenge to get a satisfying overload for himself. He wouldn’t say he was desperate, but he was certainly eager as he clambered up to wrap his thighs around Tarn’s stupidly handsome face. His valve was sweltering with heat and dripping with lubricant and he was very happy to cover Tarn’s grin with it.

“Prove it then.”


	9. Chapter 9

Pharma’s gambit worked perfectly. Well, in both ways. His method of distracting Tarn had been flawless, and Tarn had eagerly followed his valve into oblivion. His other gambit, the far more lethal and dangerous one, had also been perfect.

It’d been the six of them against the four hundred thirty-three mecha of Deathsaurus’ warworld.

All in all, utterly unfair.

In another lifetime, Deathsaurus might have been an ally for Tarn. Here and now, however, he was one of the many who fell as Pharma’s custom make ravaged the warworld. The simple ultimatum had been thus - join or die.

In the end, a hundred seventy-nine made the choice. A mutiny was thrown for the cure and the warworld tore itself apart while the Tyranny waited, like a vulture watching its prey take its last breaths. These mecha of Deathsaurus, they had been prepared to fight against the DJD with arms and fists. Biomechanical warfare had been entirely out of their expectations.

When it was time to board, it was to a dead world. The surviving hundred eleven presented the near-dead form of Deathsaurus, while a skinny mech that Tarn recognized as Leozack waited grimly. “Smart choice,” he remarked.

In return, Leozack bristled. “You said you would heal us if we did this.”

“We did,” Tarn agreed, “but I remain curious. You betrayed him. Why? Survival?”

“He would have killed us all,” Leozack growled. “Now - the cure.”

Tarn peered at him. He seemed to be satisfied by what he saw. “Of course. Pharma…?”

“And him. You’ll cure him?” Deathsaurus weakly raised a servo, but they all ignored him.

Tarn’s helm tilted. “...very well. Now, if you would, Leozack?”

The beastformer glared at all of the hatefully. He looked sunken-in, defeated, dull, but defiant. Still, on Tarn’s command, he and all those who followed him sunk to their knees in deference, accepting the command of their new leader. Some stared at Tarn’s bare face, looking dumbstruck by it. It was a continuing trend, this shock. They stared at the face of their conqueror, hapless to do anything else.

Subjugation, without even a finger lifted.

 

Pharma awaited his grand performance just behind Tarn, a protective and imposing bulk to shield him from any would-be violence. That would not come, apparently, because the mecha, starved, defeated, bowed to their new lord. 

Just as Pharma had planned. He suppressed a smile as he sauntered around Tarn, deeming the situation handled and safe. He threw a glance and a telling smirk back to Tarn as he approached the fallen Deathsaurus. Weak, crippled, the beastformer was on the brink of death.

“I could also take him apart.” Pharma waited for Tarn’s instruction, willing to show his submission to the new leader of the warworld.

 

“No!” Leozack burst immediately. His mane rippled around his face as he alternated between anger and pleading. “You promised! You promised he would live!”

Tarn stayed silent for a touch longer than necessary, as if making up his mind. He  _ had _ promised, yes. He’d promised every mech who turned against Deathsaurus’ order of defiance that they would live, along with anyone they managed to bring in with them. If they served as Tarn’s new crew, they could get off entirely free. As for Leozack, the leader of this movement… he’d promised Deathsaurus would live, and even be whole.

It was a promise he could renege on, easily.

Leozack begged, however, his proud face turned into wild fear while desperation shone in his yellow optics. He’d spearheaded this, just so that more mecha might be saved… so that Deathsaurus might be saved.

“You promised me, Tarn,” Leozack said, his bestial nature shining out of his face. “He lives.”

“...I did promise,” Tarn said softly, slowly. “Deathsaurus lives. Pharma - the cure is for all of them. Keep the big one alive.”

 

“It’s a shame. He looks like a lot of good, spare parts.” Pharma’s viper smile was directed at Leozack now as he knelt down to give Deathsaurus the cure first. He’d need it, otherwise his self-repair would never be powered by the sludge energon in his systems.

“Line up. Let the doctor do his work.” he called to the Decepticons, entirely satisfied in having power over mecha who could rip him apart on their own. They were all under his heel now, and damn it if that didn’t give him a good measure of charge already. His wingtips fluttered with excitement as he administered the cure (with its security trigger) to each of them.

 

Slowly, each mech was cured. Leozack was the last to submit, and he stared at Tarn and Pharma hatefully as it happened. Under Tarn’s supervision, the survivors were split into four groups who would work under the purview of his unit. They would clear corpses, tally resources, prepare the ship, and gather medical equipment into the largest medical center in the warworld. As they were sent off, Tarn headed towards Deathsaurus’ command center.

The warworld had been taken.

So why was he not satisfied?

His victory had been effortless. All there was left was for him to…

To…

To finish it.

Quite suddenly, Tarn felt sick. 

 

Pharma had gained a group of workers to take to the hospital of the warworld. He was excited, Tarn’s mood and future purged from his mind as he came upon equipment he’d been sorely missing for years now. This was what he’d craved to possess, to rule over. An entire research facility, free from the restraints of any moral code other than his own. He’d have to fill it with talent, of course, and that was spread across the galaxies, but Pharma wasn’t worried.

Or in a rush.

Let Tarn have command of a planet-sized war machine. Pharma had something better, and sweeter victory in his palm.

 

-x-

 

Deathsaurus’ command center was neat and tidy, which was typical to the mech Tarn had known before he ran off. It was dark here, as Tarn had not bothered to turn on the lights, but he navigated by his sensors. He explored it idly, running his servo over the dustless consoles, and examined the stronghold that the beastformer had once commanded.

In the space of one night, he’d lost all of that. It was, perhaps, the swiftest demotion in history.

He found the command chair that Deathsaurus would relay his orders from. It was styled differently than most - likely to accommodate for his different shape - and was in the center of the room, on a slightly elevated platform so he could have a view of everyone.

Tarn sank into it slowly. His treads settled against the molded back uncomfortably. The armrests were farther than he would have preferred, but not so much that he would have to strain himself.

He vented softly. A claw wrapped around the console arm and they lit up under his touch. Security measures had already been bypassed by Kaon, as something to do while Pharma’s poison worked it course. With a soft, affirmative jingle, each console in the room began to light up. The room was soft blue and purple, dream-like.

_ “Welcome, commander _ ,” said a cool voice. Tarn looked forward, to where the large viewing screen that doubled as a window when not used turned into a starmap.

Cybertron was highlighted.

His tanks roiled. It felt as if a large servo had wrapped around his throat and was squeezing tightly.

The bright dot on the screen blinked at him, as if to say  _ notice me _ . That was where he was. Would he know the ramifications of what he had done? Would he even understand why this was necessary? Did he even  _ care _ ?

Tarn felt sicker.

A ping drew his attention from the screen. Kaon, again.  _ ::Are we ready to go?:: _

A cold, hard lump resided where his spark should have been. Ready to go… ready to hunt. It was all the same. The back of the chair dug into his back, insistently reminding him of where he was.

He looked back at the blinking dot.  _ Come get me _ , it said.  _ Can you do it, Tarn? Do you want to do it? _

His venting was growing ragged. Tarn hunched, grinding his denta hard enough to make them squeal.  _ He’s waiting, Tarn. He’s waiting for you. _

In the room, lit up only by the pale wash of glowing consoles, Tarn gagged on his own thoughts. Each drawn vent was a rattling gasp. Icewater poured down his neck, through his joints, through him until he was cold, inside and out.

He couldn’t breathe.

_ He couldn’t breathe _ .

_ “Awaiting orders, commander,” _ the console chimed again.

_ Are we ready to go? _

“No!” he suddenly roared, standing up so quickly that he nearly stumbled. “No!”

His claws wrapped around the command chair and with an inarticulate snarl, Tarn tore it free of its foundation. In a single movement, he sent it sailing over the row of consoles and into the viewing screen. It exploded apart in a shower of sparks and glass, and the starmap stuttered and became black. The command chair’s uncomfortable back was embedded in the screen, while its bottom, trailing metal intestines, fell in a tilt. The screen flickered and the hateful dot, the little mark that said  _ Cybertron _ , glimmered at him erratically.

_ Come, _ it seemed to say.  _ Come! _

Tarn fled.

 

-x-

 

Kaon’s question went unanswered. It was reason enough to not pester Tarn, whose moods had been enough to make everyone wary. They couldn’t get out of responsibility by throwing themselves at him, so they did the best second option, which was get the Pits out of dodge.

The clean-up and taking of the warworld went nicely. Corpses were lined up, tallied, and prepared for treatment by Pharma. T-cogs were collected, renewed energon was drained, and spare parts were repurposed. All the medically and scientifically inclined mecha were thrown to Pharma’s cruel oversight, presumably so he could devour their sparks and use the thus-soulless automatons as his slaves, as Helex put it glumly.

When Tarn emerged, he was quiet. Quiet enough that no one could be quite sure what his mood was, so Kaon hustled everyone into work again because that was a bad sign. It would either clear up… or it would get worse.

It got worse.

Even so, no one could have predicted  _ how _ worse it would get.

 

-x-

 

It was nearing the second week of the takeover and the warworld had yet to move from the Galactic Rim. Orders still came down from up top - clean this, clear that, move this there, take this here, and so on. Yet the order that everyone was waiting for never came. It brought up the question.

_ Why aren’t we moving? _

Tarn became a shade, seen often enough to reassure everyone of his presence, yet so foul-tempered that his presence was dreaded. Once news of  _ why _ the DJD had taken the warworld passed around, the atmosphere grew more uncomfortable.

No one ever really expected such a thing to happen. No one could predict what it could mean, and certainly no one knew what affect it might have on  _ Tarn _ . Judging by his prowling, it was not good.

Very not good.

“Something has to be done,” Helex muttered. His two big servos were laced together, while his smaller servos held onto a datapad he held in front of his face. “You know I’m right.”

“Like what?” Tesarus demanded. Vos sat on his shoulder and he hissed his own addition to Tes’ question. It sounded disapproving, exacerbated by the harshness of his guttural language. “See? Even he agrees.”

Helex’s helm turned to Kaon, who was holding onto the chain of the Pet. It slobbered as it wandered around, bumping its snout into things while its spiked tail wagged fiercely. Kaon, technical second-in-command when Tarn was indisposed, was also the unofficial ambassador to their commander when uncomfortable questions needed to be put. He sensed the optics on him, and his helm tilted up.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Helex grunted.

Kaon’s optical sockets seemed to glare. “You saw what he’s doing.”

“So what? We wait until he… finishes?”

“No.”

Vos skittered down Tesarus’ arm. The Pet bounded over to him, but he ignored it. He hissed something, and Kaon’s face tightened. “No, I didn’t mean that.”

Vos spat something.

“What? No!”

“What’d he say?” Tesarus asked, curious. Only Kaon and Tarn understood what Vos said. Helex and he had to rely on translations from Kaon, which could be of dubious veracity depending on Kaon’s mood at the time.

“He wants me to ask the slag.”

“To help with Tarn?” Helex mused. “That’s… not bad. If he’s angry, the slag is the one who gets it, not us.”

“Or he’ll put us in the smelter,” Kaon groused. “Can’t trust him.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Helex shrugged, attention diverting to his datapad again. “Look, either he says no or he goes and spins up something for Tarn. It’s not anything new anyway.”

Kaon had no answer to that. Tesarus offered no more, just holding out his servo for Vos to step up on. The Pet placed its paws on Kaon’s thigh, and he petted its helm idly.

The next day, he went down to the science center for Pharma. Kaon ignored the uncomfortable glances sent in the direction of the Pet as he tugged it along. He was already hating himself for having to do this.

“Pharma,” he might say, “what’s happening to Tarn?”

“Oh, hello, Kaon,” the slag might reply, “I actually poisoned him.”

“Wow, I knew it,” he would retort, and electrify him to death. Ah, if only.

 

Pharma had become something he’d vaguely dreamed of. Maybe even pictured, on one of those rare occasions when he settled for anything less than being the most accomplished medic and scientist throughout the galaxy. He was in power. True, Tarn still outranked him, supposedly controlled him, but look where he was now, just years after Delphi; in command of an entire research facility, which was well-equipped, bursting with subjects and materials and oh, yes, on a freaking warworld that would go wherever Pharma guided Tarn’s wrath.

That part alone was beautiful. Pharma could indulge in his new office, the view, the private oilbath and best of all, not an ounce of icy weather anywhere.

Tending to Tarn had taken a backseat for the moment and it showed, immediately and terribly, in the complete lack of direction. The warworld wasn’t moving, despite being ready to do so. Its commander issued no new orders, held no speeches of intentions. 

But Pharma didn’t mind. He wasn’t eager to get back to Cybertron and crush the fragile planet, all for the sake of one washed-up, traitorous warlord. They could be conquering worlds that could bear Pharma’s name with this thing, or discovering resources that made for even better results in his studies.

Pharma relaxed into the hot oil with a lazy, sated smile, ignoring the pinging panel in the front room of his office. He hadn’t once shared Tarn’s berth since arriving here and discovering that the previous head of the facility had a taste for luxury in his living quarters.

 

Every second spent in front of the door was another second Kaon renewed his loathing for Pharma. He was incredibly easy to loathe in general, given that he was probably on the other side proving how much of a waste of space he was.

“Open the fragging door!” he snarled as he sent a vicious kick to it. The Pet had already managed to wind its chain around his legs thrice already, and it was beginning to grow annoying.

Having bullied Pharma’s comm out of one of the poor fraggers who worked under him - he’d taken one glance at the Pet and immediately dropped everything he knew - Kaon pinged him.

_ ::Open up. We need to speak about Tarn.:: _

 

_ ::I’m sorry, who is this?:: _

Pharma knew exactly who was bothering the door and his comms, but hell if he wasn’t going to play with Kaon’s patience. The unit, as he called them, had a special place of resentment in Pharma’s spark. They didn’t like him, and they could do nothing to him. As long as he kept Tarn wrapped around his little finger.

He lifted a leg up and watched the oil gleam as it slid down. Spectacular. He should have one of these every day.

 

Oh, temptation leave him be. Kaon wished he could blow the door off its hinges and set the Pet on Pharma, but he had just enough self-control to hold back his hatred. Instead, he stepped back.

_ ::Tarn is in danger.:: _

If  _ that _ didn’t mobilize him, Kaon was sure he was justified to murder him.

 

The door slid open for Kaon a moment later, without another cheeky comment. Pharma was loathed to climb out of his oilbath, but Tarn was his golden goose, and he couldn’t risk losing him this early on. He toweled off the excess oil and stepped back into his office, meeting Kaon with a haughty glare and shining plating that looked newly forged. Pharma always took care to look his best and now, he finally had the means for it again.

“What do you mean, in danger? He has an entire warworld.”

 

“Shows what you know,” Kaon retorted as the Pet wandered in, snuffling and snorting as it explored its new surroundings. It tried to lick Pharma’s leg, but Kaon tugged it back.

“He’s been quiet, lately. Not talking, no orders, nothing. That’s bad.” Kaon sat down in the corner farthest from Pharma and glared at him. “I realize you’re busy slobbering over everything you got here, but try and keep up with the current climate. You lose Tarn, you lose everything.”

 

“I am  _ not _ losing Tarn.” Pharma was a little too quick to answer for his dignity and taste. The notion of Tarn being gone had never crossed his mind, but maybe he hadn’t been paying enough attention, again. Tarn was worse than the snuffling Pet; constantly in need to be caressed, distracted, and entertained.

Pharma was already agitated from his slip-up, and Kaon’s empty, judgemental optics didn’t help.

 

“Yeah? Then get with the slagging program.” The chain wound tighter around Kaon’s fist as he held up his other servo. Three fingers were held up. “One. Minimal orders. Two. Minimal appearances. Three. We’re not moving. Try and use your empty little helm for once in your life, and think about what that means.”

Kaon’s servo dropped. “Haven’t you noticed anything? Even before we got here, you haven’t seen it? Where the frag is that genius you like to screech about anytime someone looks in your direction, huh?”

 

“Mind your glossa.” Pharma snapped, severely unhappy with Kaon’s presence and accusations. It was true, Tarn did hide away nowadays and didn’t even call for him, but Pharma had been busy otherwise and assumed Tarn was in a similar position, making adjustments to the warworld that was now their own.

His servo idled on his chest. Beneath the plating, he could feel every scratched inch of the carving on his sentio. Was it an odd sense of duty that compelled him to feel like this? Like his throat was seizing up and a lump burdened his mind? Was this...worry?

He didn’t like it. 

“Of course I’ve seen it. He’s been manic and depressed ever since Megatron’s defection. Who do you think ensured he didn’t do something stupid like commit suicide? Certainly not  _ you. _ ”

 

“And clearly, you have been  _ so _ much help, haven’t you?” Kaon snorted. “You just took what happened to him and used it against him, you little slag.”

He’d ‘helped’ until he got what he wanted. What did he do afterward? Leave Tarn high and dry, while he sat around drinking fancy slag and taking oil baths. Typical high caste. “He’s been using the warworld acquisition to distract himself,” Kaon snapped. “Well, now we got the fragging warworld. Don’t you see it? Tarn is…”

_ Destroying himself. _

_ Unwilling to do it. _

_ Probably destroying something else somewhere. _

“...he’s back in a bad place. And at this rate, he’ll do something drastic.”

Kaon glanced around, as if to check for someone else in the room. He clicked his glossa, and the Pet perked up. When he let go of the chain, it snuffled around, actually ignoring Pharma as it paced the perimeter. “Tarn’s seeing things,” he confessed in a low voice. “He called Tes Megatron, yesterday. He thinks we didn’t notice.”

 

Kaon despised him and insulted him at every turn, but the fact that he was here, right now, in Pharma’s office, showed how desperately Tarn needed help. His loyal unit could do nothing for him. Pharma should have been smug. This was his hour of triumph. Tarn was undoing himself, and all he had to do was watch and wait. If Tarn continued to deteriorate, Pharma would simply have to keep him alive long enough to let him pass authority on to him.

And yet...

That plan sat ill with his tanks. They roiled at the notion of having Tarn expire and leaving Pharma alone with a warworld full of mecha that might kill him if they didn’t respect him. His plating crawled at the thought of never being encased by thickly armored arms again and pressed to a purring engine at night. Sure, he’d managed to distract himself with some luxuries and treats, but he would willingly and quickly return to Tarn’s berth.

Pharma didn’t like any of what he was feeling, because if he sliced it apart, he knew exactly what kind of slimey mess would come out of such a cross-section. He was  _ feeling _ for Tarn. Empathy, worry, care. All of those were markers of something Pharma thought he’d left behind, in favor of taking care only of himself.

“Hallucinations? He’s probably not recharging...and Primus knows what he’s fuelling on...”

 

“Good  _ job _ , doctor, you finally noticed someone who isn’t named Pharma.” The Pet returned to his pedes, deeming the area clean. “You think  _ this _ is bad? It’ll get worse. Much worse. I know Tarn, and I’ve been at his side longer than you even knew he existed. This is just the beginning.”

The first time, it’d been during a Megatron death scare. One of his closer ones, actually, back when the Decepticons weren’t used to such declarations. They had genuinely thought he’d died… and had nearly fallen apart in his absence. Tarn  _ had _ fallen apart.

“He holes himself up places. He doesn’t communicate. He’ll destroy his surroundings, then he’ll start killing. That’s how thirteen previous DJD members died, before.” Kaon ticked it off with the expertise of someone who’d weathered such behavior many times before. “Hallucinations, speaking to himself, lack of sleep, you name it. He’s done it.”

Tarn was a talented commander, dedicated administrator, and fearsome warrior. Kaon would follow him down to the Pits, if ordered to. But he was Megatron’s, more than any of them could claim. “Megatron defected. For that, we said we would kill him. But for Tarn? Megatron was - _ is _ \- the reason he lives at all.”

 

All of this, Pharma could have guessed just from observation. Tarn was a fanatic, dependant person, and the object of his worship had left him for good. Pharma had tried, little by little, to step in, to become someone close to that level of importance to Tarn, but maybe he was moving too slowly. Maybe he needed to take a bound and a leap to catapult his tamed beast into a saner state of mind. Or at least, one of stability.

Kaon had come to him for a reason. He knew Pharma could make a difference to Tarn. What he did not know was that Pharma’s spark had begun whirling anxiously and his servos kept clenching in agitation. What Kaon also didn’t know was that Pharma darkly suspected that he himself had grown attached to Tarn, maybe beyond the mere necessity of his protection.

“He needs a new reason to live.”

A tall, tall order.

 

“Yes.” And it wasn’t going to be his unit, because they were intrinsically tied to the Decepticons and their past. But Pharma was a wildcard, one that Tarn was already dearly attached to. Maybe… maybe he could be useful, for once.

“So you can either go do something, or you can stay here, and bathe and eat. Then when Tarn finally snaps, I can have an excuse to come down here and rip your optics out. It’s your choice.”

 

“Your threats don’t work on me, Kaon, so you can leave those behind at the door. But very well. I heard your concerns. Now go do whatever it is you do with your bestial companion and leave me be.”

Because Pharma had some thinking to do, and he definitely needed to track down Tarn and give him some reason to rejoice. Somehow, he doubted a blowjob would be enough to lift depression once more from the mech.

 

Kaon sneered but complied; he didn’t want to stay any longer than he absolutely had to. His job here was done anyway - if Pharma moved, it was entirely up to him. He somewhat hoped he did not, only if so Kaon would have an excuse to pull him apart, limb by limb.

The Pet slinking after him, Kaon left Pharma to his dark thoughts.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Tarn oversaw the small part of the warworld that was filled with activity. A warworld of this size couldn’t operated in its entirety by a population of this size, hence why they only worked in a single district. Thankfully, whoever had designed the first warworld had foreseen instances of low population count, so had made it so that only one area needed to be operated for the entire warworld to function. All other places were ultimately redundant and could be shut down until they saw use.

The Miaxes district was closest to the engine. It was essentially an upscale city, with apartments alongside industries, offices next to artillery lances. Tarn stood on a balcony, overseeing the flow of activity below.

Everyone was working, and yet they were in stasis. The apartment behind him - his quarters in the warworld - was in devastation. Everything inside it had been destroyed, be it walls, furniture, or appliances.

 

Finding Tarn’s new accommodations wasn’t complicated. It was the place everyone avoided, made a large circle around and refused to even linger close to. It was a nice structure, as far as architecture on the warworld was concerned; some care and eye for beauty had flown into the curved metal and wide balconies. 

Pharma didn’t take the lift up, having wanted to stretch his wings for a while. Tarn was on his balcony, glowering at the splendid view of the world that now obeyed him. Oh, he was so very clearly unhappy. 

Pharma circled the building once, throwing in a nice little roll just for his own enjoyment before landing on said balcony, giving Tarn a small margin of room to escape. He had buckled down for a terrible conversation, but when he saw Tarn, his spark made an uncomfortable little jump in his chestplate and he was going to examine that later.

“May I come in?” he asked, pointedly ignoring the chaos inside of the apartment and keeping his tone relatively neutral.

 

“What?” Tarn was distracted. He was scanning the crowds below, searching. “Yes, you may.”

What did Pharma want? He should be happy in his new seat, shouldn’t he? He’d certainly seemed like it, having practically ignored Tarn the minute the warworld was opened up to him. 

 

Pharma settled next to Tarn, a slender little wraith compared to his bulk. The view was actually pleasant. He could get used to looking down at all of this as their kingdom. Their home. Pharma felt odd and he tried to even out the feeling in his tanks and the hitch in his spark. Since when did Tarn do this to him again? This nervous, eager anticipation in his presence, that was something he’d left behind on Messatine, when their deal stopped and he no longer supplied Tarn with the T-cogs and interfacing he wished for.

And yet, here it was again and his intake was dry.

“I’ve missed your company.”

It was disgustingly easy to believe that as a truth with the readiness those words escaped him.

 

“Have you? What prevented you from seeking me out?” Tarn huffed as he looked away from Pharma. “Very likely.”

It didn’t matter, he told himself. None of it mattered. The whispers around him, however… oh, those mattered. They were everywhere, just out of earshot. Tarn couldn’t recharge now, mind too wracked by thoughts to rest. From him, the smell of tanks running on fumes emanated.

“What have you been doing?” he asked. “Tell the truth, for once.”

 

Pharma bit his glossa. The sharp comment was a bad sign. When Tarn put the pageantry of Pharma’s show of loyalty aside, he was always hitting rock bottom of his mood swings. The desperate roil of his tanks was audible from here. Did the mech simply not know how to take care of himself, or was he just suicidal again? Tarn was a burden in his current state and Pharma knew he was oddly fragile. And that made him...

_ Protective. _

Pharma nearly purged. Protective of Tarn? Ridiculous! He was being ridiculous!

“I’ve been setting up my research facility, picking out if the remaining staff have any talent. Then I’ve had all the corpses disassembled for parts and the remainder of the infected energon purified. Everything I need to begin working on large scale projects.”

Pharma would usually preen and continue on to explain his brilliance, but Tarn looking away from him didn’t sit well with the gleaming medic.

He laid a hand on Tarn’s arm.

“You’re not recharging. Or fueling. As your primary physician, I can’t say I approve, Tarn.”

 

“What does it matter to you?” he snapped, drawing away from Pharma. He began to pace, prowling across the balcony anxiously while glancing down again. Working? Yes, Pharma had been working, alright. He’d seen what he’d wanted and he’d ran off immediately. Tarn should have foreseen it.

His engine growled before sputtering, snarling from lack of care. “Have you seen him?” he demanded suddenly, turning on Pharma. “You must have, you’re an Autobot.”

Tarn looked like he wanted to grab Pharma, but shook it off. Again, he looked down.

 

“An...what?”

Pharma knew this was different than Tarn’s moods from before. Kaon’s words came to mind and Pharma was loathed to agree with him. This was worse. 

“Tarn, I’m worried about you.”

And wasn’t it ironic that it wasn’t a lie? Tarn had always been a composed monster. One that could be reasoned with, bartered with, manipulated through clever conversation. But if he was coming undone at the seams, then Pharma needed to know. So he could decide when it was smart to run, because if he lost Tarn to this encroaching madness...

No, no, Pharma was so close to having safety, a home and a reputation! He couldn’t let it all slip through his fingers with this mech. He needed...he needed to find Tarn’s new reason to live, and fast. Pharma himself had already offered too much to be enticing, but there had to be more to give.

“You’re out of fuel. Your cog’s burned out and your processor is overheating.”

His brow drew together and Pharma chased the mech across the balcony, trying to be close to him as he could be.

 

“No, no, it doesn’t matter. Don’t you get it?” Tarn planted his servos on Pharma’s shoulders. “He’s here,” he said insistently, “He’s watching me.”

Perhaps it was all a lie. Perhaps Megatron had never defected at all. Tarn wouldn’t believe it until he saw, that much was for certain. Maybe it was all just a test, a test of his loyalty… those had been common, back when Tarn had been uninitiated. 

“There’s a reason,” he persisted, “a reason for everything.”

 

“You’re hallucinating,” Pharma diagnosed, able to inspect Tarn’s vitals from the close proximity. His brow knitted into a frown as he slid his fingers over the mech’s warm plating. Too warm. His tanks must be rumbling loud enough for the entire district to hear. 

“There is a reason you are seeing something that’s not real, Tarn, and it is because you haven’t recharged at all since we’ve arrived.”

Tarn’s gaze wasn’t on him, and Pharma didn’t like that all. He wanted to slap Tarn in the face for that kind of insolence.

“Tarn. Tarn! Listen to me!”

 

“-arn! Listen to me!”

_ “Listen to me, Tarn.” He was kneeling in front of him, feeling small and insignificant. _

“I am,” he whispered, unseeing, “I am.” His grip tightened before he let go.

_ “Close yourself to the lies. Always be loyal.” _

Tarn scratched at the scar again compulsively. He looked away, at the people below. Was that a flash of grey metal? A barrel of a fusion cannon? Had that been the crash of work, or the boom of a voice?

“Loyal,” he muttered, “yes. Loyal.”

_ “Never leave my side.” _

“I won’t,” he promised, leaving the edge of the balcony. He almost walked into Pharma, and held him, as if surprised by his presence. 

“My lord?” he asked. The skinny, shorter figure of Pharma was overlaid by someone whose face he could not see. Tarn held on, as if by letting go he might lose the vision. “You’re here. I saw you.”

He sank to his knees. “You never left. You won’t. I’ll never leave.” It was his own weakness that made those servos seem smaller than they should be. His own misguided weakness, Tarn was sure.

 

Pharma could see that there was more at work here than he anticipated. He knew Tarn’s obsession with Megatron was thoroughly fabricated, but he’d underestimated the intricacy of the manipulations. Tarn was clinging to him, kneeling before him, but it wasn’t Pharma he was seeing. It wasn’t Pharma he wanted so desperately to be loyal to. 

_ Megatron ought to be triple-tapped just for ruining his mech _ , Pharma thought viciously.

He held Tarn’s helm close, which rested on his chest even when the mech was kneeling. He’d either have to knock him out with a manual shutdown of his processor or try and talk him into seeking the rest he so desperately needed.

“You’re being deceived, Tarn. By your own mind.” Pharma stroked over the handsome faceplate with the rusty scar, bending down to kiss the heated chevron gently. He knew the chances of Tarn coming to terms and reason on his own were slim. Again, Pharma cracked his chestplate. Not for anything more elaborate than for plasma to soothe the aching processor in Tarn’s stubborn helm.

 

He held onto him desperately, unable to let go. The days of neglect left Tarn feeling weak. It took effort - visible effort - for him to raise his helm again to look up at his lord. “Forgive me,” he murmured.

He was… tired. So tired. HIs lord would understand, wouldn’t he?

His helm dropped to his chest again, to the warm plasma kissing his face. “I need you,” he whispered. His optics dimmed as the lack of fuel and recharge began to dominate his frame. As he did, Tarn’s frame leaned more and more against Pharma.

 

This was starting to lose any humorous notion. How was Pharma going to do anything if Tarn just collapsed against him? His fuel was critically low and his processor on the verge of shutting down on its own. It was as if Tarn was slipping through his grasp, and Pharma didn’t like it one bit. Mild panic raced up his spine.

“Tarn? Tarn, stop this!”

No dice, and no coherent answer, just more weight. Pharma had to move to the side and let the mech slide to the floor of the balcony as Pharma sunk to his knees beside him.

“You’re the most gullible, idiotic zealot I’ve ever met,” he hissed, turning his panic into useful anger. Once Tarn was clearly not moving anymore, Pharma went inside, gathering what he could from the broken habsuite. Several stacks of cubes would be necessary and the medic had no patience for Tarn’s delirious fever dreams as he opened him up to manually fill the tanks that begged for fuel. A new t-cog was worked in too, the most routine surgery Pharma made in his life, and he kept a continued optic on the temperature in the rest of Tarn. 

Once he was finished, he stayed put, right there on the floor, stroking over Tarn’s face.

“I need you to stay alive, you ignorant ponce.” He muttered, angry at Tarn, angry at Megatron, angry at Kaon and angry at the world. He was so close to his new life, and now, his foundation was slipping away like grains of sand.

 

Tarn slept. As he did, he dreamed.

He dreamed that someone held him tenderly, and that they murmured kind things into his audial. He dreamed of soft servos on his face and a warm presence. They had no face, but their voice was soft. Sometimes, his dreams grew dark and cold, and his body outside twitched and shuddered as if to fight. Tarn burned through energon hungrily, devouring more and more as his body tried to regain its usual performance levels.

Whenever the presence came back, he tried to call out to them. He tried to tell them to stay and hold him, but his mouth and tongue were too heavy to move. All he could do was reach out and hope that was enough.

 

For three days and nights, Pharma held vigil by Tarn’s side. He couldn’t exactly explain why he was doing it, and thankfully, no one came to ask. Tarn didn’t need to be protected. No one on the warworld would dare go against him now, and his unit were still ever loyal to him alone. 

And yet, Pharma felt increasingly protective. He’d managed to communicate enough with Kaon to have someone come in, clean the hab-suite, and maneuver Tarn onto a new berth. Immediately after that task was finished, Pharma had the mech taken into Kaon’s custody, to ensure he would not spread word on Tarn’s condition.

He tended to Tarn’s every need, kept his optics, his sensors and hands as much on Tarn as he could, taking micro-recharges in order to stay sharp and alert.

And all of it wasn’t enough to distract Pharma from something very important that he did not want to deal with; he cared about Tarn. There were other mech out there that could gain power and a reputation and protect him, others that Pharma could throw his loyalty to. But he didn’t want any of them. He didn’t want to leave Tarn to fall into madness not created by Pharma’s hand. He missed their exchanges, cultured and violent. He missed Tarn’s pretense of affection, the interfacing...everything.

Pharma cared for Tarn. Deeply. And as much as it loathed him to spend a single thought on such an idea, he couldn’t help but accuse himself each time he looked down at the handsome, sleeping face and felt his spark ache fiercely with longing.

 

Three days passed before Tarn’s consciousness chose to emerge. It was slow-going, required much effort from him, and Tarn still groaned as his optics flickered. His vision was painful, so he let them shutter again.

It was agonizing enough that he almost wanted to die.

_ What happened? _

Was he on the Tyranny? Perhaps he’d been injured in battle, and fallen unconscious...

 

The only pain Tarn could be feeling was mental, because his frame was in absolute perfect condition, thanks to the medic that anxiously hovered over him as soon as he made a noise. Pharma didn’t look shiny anymore, not after three days of locking himself in with a mech beyond help. He was worn, he was weary, and his plating smeared here and there with Tarn’s fluids.

“Tarn?”

Maybe he’d be responsive. If not, Pharma would put him back under artificially, because this mech needed to regain his mind.

 

“Mmm?” He turned his helm to track the voice. He felt as if he ought to recognize it, but his mind was still too blank to muster up a proper thought. Had he been that injured? How strange.

Pits, he was tired. Maybe he should sleep again, but his curiosity drove him. “Who…?”

His servo raised slowly as he tried to touch them.

 

Pharma saw the movement out of the corner of his optic and moved himself against Tarn’s servos. It wasn’t difficult to climb on the berth and curl into those arms, though he had to nudge one to lay over his waist. Like this, Pharma could be at face-level with Tarn and stare him right in the optics. He did, but his own were dimmed.

“It’s me...you remember, I know you do.”

His voice was drained of all of his usual venom and Pharma curled closer.

 

Someone was on him. With him… holding him? Tarn was uncertain, but he did not let go. His optics lit up reluctantly, and a blob of color floated before him. Three resets later, it cleared out into someone he recognized.

“...Pharma,” he said, voice akin to gravel. “You… why?”

He was here. He was… here? Had he been the one, then? Tarn’s optics shuttered again. “What happened?” he groaned, feeling more tired than he had in years.

 

That was strange, had Tarn damaged his memory banks? Pharma hoped not, because if they lost everything they’d experienced together, he wasn’t sure if he could survive the next hours.

“Don’t you remember? You...you haven’t been fueling. Or recharging, ever since we took the warworld. From Deathsaurus.”

Pharma reached out and gently traced the edges of Tarn’s jaw. Really, it was a shame he wouldn’t let Pharma fix the cosmetic damage to his face, he was such a handsome mech beneath all of it.

“You made me worry. That’s unforgivable, I hope you know that.”

 

“I’m… sorry?” he said, trying to process what he was told. Some of the memories were coming back to him, but they were fuzzy, indistinct. He felt like they were being viewed from beyond fogged glass. “What happened… after?”

Deathsaurus. The warworld. They were still on it, then. That must been…

Megatron had really defected.

Tarn felt cold again.

 

Oh no. Tarn’s optics were growing distant again. Pharma had no idea how to pull him out of this vicious cycle, and desperation warred with the screaming fear of being left alone again, as he had been these three days.

“Tarn, Tarn stay with me, Please.”

He took Tarn’s face between his hands and bowed his helm for a moment to gather himself. This was getting harder by the moment and Tarn was hanging by a thread that couldn’t be pulled by Pharma alone.

“We’re not going after Megatron.”

Pharma had to make the decision, or else risk losing Tarn to this downward spiral entirely. He met his gaze, he drew him close, and he kissed his scar.

“You promised me a future and I gave you my loyalty. We’re both free now, Tarn.”

 

“Free?” he repeated, sounding the word out as if he did not know what it meant. “But I…”

I must, he tried to say. It’s my duty. But he couldn’t take it, couldn’t take the thought of striking down Megatron, defection or no. The very idea made him sick, angry, made him want to curl in on himself and fall apart.

“How?” he asked, searching Pharma’s face. “I can’t… I have to, I  _ must _ …”

He wasn’t free. Tarn could never be free. He - he didn’t want to be free.

 

“You don’t have to...we’re not going to Cybertron.” Pharma wanted to cry, this was so frustrating. This was the bottom of the endless well that Tarn had covered up so convincingly in all the years Pharma knew him. This was the pathetic, crumbling foundation of a mech so dependent it required a stronger word than addiction.

“You can be mine. I’ll guide you, I’ll...I’ll love you. But you have to be  _ mine _ , Tarn, you can’t leave me behind.”

 

“You?” Replace Megatron with Pharma? The idea was nigh unthinkable. Megatron had always told him to never waver, to never look elsewhere - but he was gone. He’d left Tarn… and Pharma had promised to never.

It went beyond conscious choice. It was… deep within him, this need to follow Megatron. Trained and groomed into him, and Tarn had been so  _ happy _ with it. He had been happy to follow… but he could not, because Megatron had gone where Tarn could not go.

“Why?” he finally asked, in a voice so low it might have been a whisper. Megatron had  _ needed _ Tarn, and so he’d raised him up. Why would Pharma…

_ Why would he want you, when no one else does? _

“You’ll leave,” Tarn said, because that was the truth, wasn’t it?

 

“No, no, I won’t.” Pharma couldn’t have faked the amount of sincerity in his voice, even if he wanted to. This right here, this mech, that’s what he needed, and that was who he wanted. It was clear now, the jagged path he’d taken had lead him right here. Tarn had been imperfect before, and now he was broken, ready to be remoulded, ready to be Pharma’s if only he could convince him that he was worth such devotion. He wasn’t a charismatic warrior, or a passionate leader. Pharma was selfish and beautiful and his world up to this point had only included himself and his future. Now, he wanted it to enfold Tarn as well.

“I swore it to you. It is written on my spark, that I will never leave you. I didn’t do it when you dropped three days ago, and I won’t in the future.”

The next part was a risk that Pharma had taken every precaution for, and it had been an ace up his sleeve for a long while. One he’d hoped not to use, but it may yet salvage this.

“Merge sparks with me. Let me show you.”

Pharma’s feeding of infused, inner energon to Tarn had hopefully conditioned his outlier spark to Pharma’s frequency, and so, this shouldn’t kill him.

 

“You’ll die,” Tarn said, remembering Pharma’s warning against it when he first brought the topic up. “I don’t want to kill you.”

It was an unexpected moment of truth, because Tarn realized he actually did mean that. He didn’t want to kill, or even hurt, Pharma. The revelation made him blink. When had he last actually, genuinely threatened Pharma?

Not since what happened back on the Tyranny. Not since he showed him his spark chamber.

He swallowed. “You can’t die.”

Like it or not, Pharma had saved him from the darkness of his mind for the second time now. Tarn wasn’t sure what he might do if Pharma die, but it would not be good. Not at all. 

 

“I won’t. Remember that I have been preparing for your request,” Pharma couldn’t help himself, caressing Tarn’s face just seemed like the natural thing to do in this situation. He was proposing a merge, after all, to have his feelings, his newly realized, terrifyingly genuine emotions, be enough to convince Tarn that he had someone to stay with, someone to give him purpose, because he’d given that to Pharma.

“I don’t want to lose you. I can’t. I...I might be lost without you. Accept my spark.”

Said spark was quick to drown the room in ambient, gentle blue, hungrily licking over Tarn’s chestplate, craving the same comfort Pharma did in the mech’s arms.

 

He stared at the spark that was offered to him. The amount of trust and faith that was being offered to him was almost intimidating - it was being thrust upon him as if to say things he never thought about. He looked up at Pharma again, who was giving him such a painfully earnest expression that it was alien on his face.

His chest opened, slowly, ready to close the moment his reciprocation was mocked. Tarn almost feared it from Pharma, if there was anything he could fear. Their entire association relied on a game, on a long-running act between the two of them that depended on both of them being willing to play along.

Acting as lovers was easy. Dropping compliments and faux earnestness was simple, because they’d both played by the rules. Neither of them ever had anything to lose but their lives, something they were used to bargaining with anyway.

Now?

Those rules had been broken. Tarn was still unsure, feeling like he could trust him, but not knowing for certain.

The green glow joined the blue. Tarn stared at Pharma. “You can still back out,” he offered.

 

“I don’t want to,” Pharma persisted, spark tendrils reaching greedily for green. He’d waited, maybe even thought about this before. He’d shared everything else with Tarn, each part of himself, from preferences in the berth to depravities committed by his hands. Tarn knew him better than anyone he’d ever met, and he even seemed to like him. Maybe that had been the fatal combination.

Their sparks touched gingerly at first, before growing ravenous. It was so rare for a Cybertronian’s core to actually make contact with another, the sensation hardly fit into the parameter of words. Pharma let his optics shutter for a moment as the essence of the mech inaptly named Tarn began to mingle with his own.

Data was exchanged at a rapid rate between them, coding feelings, memories, thoughts, fantasies...everything swirled together in a tidal wave that threatened to pull them both under.

And nestled beneath this roaring wave, Pharma’s real nature, and the smallest, most delicate root of trust and inexperienced emotions that uncoiled as love, extended to Tarn, threatening to wilt at the slightest sign of being mocked.

 

Merging was rare, even among lovers. It was… baring. It was naked. Not many could stand to do that. People had the desire - and the reason - to hide, because rejection could come so easily. To have a rejection after merge? That was devastating.

But what Pharma gave him, Tarn took. He’d always wanted Pharma, always craved and coveted him. Tarn  _ enjoyed _ how broken he was. He  _ liked _ how nasty and cruel and cold he could be. Every bad part of Pharma could have been said to have been encouraged by Tarn.

When that came to him, he took it all on. He knew what sickness lurked inside him, and he wanted it. What Pharma wanted, what he fantasized about, what cruelties crept in his spark, it came to Tarn and was enfolded into him.

But, still, it came. Under the surface flaws, Pharma’s insecurities, fears, and weaknesses came in. Once upon a time, they had hidden these from each other jealously. Now, they were plain as day.

All of it, Tarn took. When the final secret was revealed, he hesitated, just long enough to approach it disbelievingly. But lies were impossible like this.

So that too, came to him.

In return, Pharma got to experience Tarn. It wasn’t pleasant, because Tarn wasn’t pleasant. The endless sea of wrath, the jealous rages, the greed and the lust for destruction, it was all part of him on a fundamental level. Tarn could no more be peaceful than he could be an Autobot. The scars of Megatron, still deep within him, came through as well. The corpse of Roller remained inside him as a shell of unwanted memories, self-loathing, and a vein of insecurity so deep that it’d been the very tool that Megatron had utilized to turn him into his beast. Tarn was raw, worrying his own injuries like he did his scar, never allowing himself to heal.

To heal meant to not be himself. Tarn was one step above his own destruction, outrunning it only by leaving corpses behind himself. Tarn’s feelings for Pharma since their first meeting on Messatine had evolved, but not so much that it was a different beast. He was obsessed, addicted, hungry. There was not a trace of regret in him for having hurt Pharma, because he genuinely, truly did think Pharma was better, sick as he was.

 

Pharma drank in the flood of Tarn, from every cruel secret to every delightful slaughter. It did not matter to him why Tarn killed, or served. It only mattered that Tarn did so in style. It was the same pleasure that he’d felt when he saw the Red Rust eviscerate Delphi. Every death had brought him satisfaction, the symphony of destruction written by his hand played out to perfection.

And Tarn, oh, he was just the same way. Broken by another, rendered into a new life without choice, and making something terrible and elegant out of it. Pharma thanked him for his cruelty and applauded his vicious nature. 

This was why they were so, so much better, together. Pharma burned for the very thought, he and Tarn, living as they pleased, serving and obeying no one but each of their fancies, be they in the berth or on a battlefield.

 

They couldn’t merge for long, for it grew painful and confusing when protracted. Withdrawing, however, was also painful, though for different reasons. Both of their cruel, vicious natures were in the open like this, and Tarn exulted in it.

He let go, though, slowly, snatching up the broken shards whenever he could and basked in the venomous disgust Pharma had for so many other things. Their connection wasn’t as something as trite as mere lust or mere alliances - it was finding a kindred spirit.

Their sparks broke apart, and they were alone in their helms once more.

 

Pharma mourned the absence of Tarn from his systems, though he did register that his spark was oversaturated with potent plasma. Any moment longer could have become dangerous for him, so their split was perfectly timed. That didn’t mean Pharma liked it. It felt good, to be open, with at least one mech in the universe who would accept him as he was. And to be given the trust of Tarn, someone who tortured, blackmailed, threatened, and even raped him, that was the cherry on top.

Pharma onlined his optics and they softly flickered as he looked at Tarn. His only mech, who knew now what Pharma learned only a day ago.

“Well?”

 

Pharma was expecting an answer out of him. Tarn kissed him instead.

So, merge was also one of the many things about Pharma that got him revved up. It was good to know. Pharma wasn’t as put together as he normally was, but Tarn wouldn’t have cared if he’d just come out a bog. He was on him in an instant, groping and needy.

After all, it  _ had _ been a while since Pharma graced his berth.

 

It was thoroughly welcomed by Pharma, who was ready to be ravished after spending three days fretting over Tarn’s life and mental health. This was familiar, this was affirming and it was a reward. Pharma put up absolutely no fight at all, encouraging Tarn’s impatience, being pliant and beautiful despite the smears and exhaustion.

One overload wasn’t enough to put them down, but five did the trick and Pharma was in those thick arms he missed, valve sore and happy, field lazily expanded as he nuzzled Tarn’s neckcables.

“Don’t leave me like that again. I will do very, very bad things if anything happens to you.”

 

“Maybe I should, if you do,” Tarn murmured. They weren’t out of the woods yet - just temporarily safe, for now. They were still too thorny, too jagged to ever make true peace with themselves. But now? They could relax.

Tarn stared up, where the long lines of damage from his fusion cannon had marked the ceiling. To say he felt at ease was too permanent… but to say he was troubled was untrue.

He was… just right.

“Where do you want to go?” he asked instead.

 

Pharma had to think about it for a moment and his answer came without hurry as he kissed Tarn’s neck.

“Crystal City.”

It was out there, somewhere. Not many had remembered its existence, what with the war clouding the view (and destroying most of everything), but Pharma recalled it, and suspected it continued to exist, somewhere in the universe.

“We need more people...scientists. I want to collect bright minds, and pick them apart. Will you help me do it, Tarn?”

 

“Yes,” he answered, though he did not know where Crystal City was. But he could find it, he was sure, because that was his specialty. Tarn found things that did not want to be found, and he dragged them kicking and screaming to the light.

To Crystal City it was, with plenty of raiding, looting, and destruction along the way. It was simply how they lived.

“If you want it… just ask, and you will have it.” 

 

“Good. Right now, I just want more of you.”


	11. Chapter 11

All in all, Pharma’s plan for his future worked out beautifully. 

The warworld proved to be a versatile home, vast to explore, easy to fill and obedient to their needs. The only population consisted of those personally made loyal to Tarn and Pharma. Scientists, medics, researchers, soldiers. No one to challenge their authority either, after Leozack and Deathsaurus were deposited on a barren moon. At first, they’d been kept under watch, confined to a house dedicated to being their prison, but Pharma pointed out that an exile was much less likely to lead to mutiny and Tarn had agreed.

It was home now, this entire structure. Pharma made vague friendships with his subordinates who were, by their very positions, forced to like him or be silenced very violently. He enjoyed social events in which only he could be the star, the center of attention, the sun of the solar system.

It was intoxicating, this power, and he shared it with only one mech; Tarn. Who was never going to be whole, or change, but served his needs just fine as broken as he was.

Pharma could admit, after weeks and months, that he might be in love; it didn’t take from his power, it didn’t make him weak. Tarn knew every part of him. Hiding secrets, that was where the weakness would come in and turn their relationship brittle.

It wouldn’t do. Tarn wasn’t permitted weaknesses, and Pharma kept him that way, delivering on every promise he’d ever made. And in turn? Tarn gave him everything. The brightest minds, the most costly jewels, Tarn laid it all at Pharma’s pedes and applauded as Pharma delicately stepped on it.

This new life of his, Pharma deserved. It was more exuberant than the Golden Age, and he was entirely free, living without consequence. Magnificent. 

 

-x-

 

_ Ten years later… _

“What is this, your third time?” Helex regarded Kaon was amusement over his datapad. It never seemed to leave his servos now that he had access to a whole new library of trashy bodice-rippers. He was grinning, clearly enjoying his fellow mech’s despondent mood.

Vos held up five fingers, and Helex chortled. “Fifth?  _ Really _ ?”

“Shut up,” Kaon said half-heartedly, swatting at the skinny gunformer. Vos dodged it easily, dancing away towards the safety of Helex’s bulk. “We’re working it out.”

“I don’t see why you’re so hung up on having relationships anyway,” Tesarus muttered from where he idly clicked through different channels. The warworld had access to more than just ‘con programming, something that he was rapidly growing a liking to. Tarn didn’t have time to grouse at him over it anyway, since he was always busy with something. The unit was busy too, but sneaking in off-time was a lot easier when your superior had to look over a whole warworld, not just a ship with four other people on it. “Sounds like a huge drag to me.”

Technically, this was Tes’ private apartment. He had, somehow, had the luck of the draw in getting the biggest one of them all, however, so it automatically became the next replacement for the common room. They simply congregated here as a continuation of their routine from back when they were ship-bound.

“You wouldn’t get it,” Kaon huffed. The Pet snuffled around his pedes. “You have your holos, Helex has his pads, I have my relationships. Butt out.”

“So what happened?” Helex asked, ignoring Kaon’s warning. “Did you shock him this time? Try to get the Pet in the room while you fragged? Lick his optic? Do a chair thing?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Kaon snarled, crackling aggressively. He also confirmed that, yes, his learned behavior in the DJD was not acceptable outside of the Tyranny and that he’d been snubbed once again for it.

Helex laughed again, drawing more of Kaon’s ire. Fitting in on the warworld was a slow project most of them didn’t care about, given that they got their positions because they were outcast outliers anyway, but Kaon had a peculiar interest in these things. Putting him next to beastformers had been just asking for  _ something _ to happen, anyway. While everyone else was alright with making everyone around  _ them _ get used to them, Kaon worked in the opposite. It was not going well, given that this was the fifth runaway.

Vos elbowed him. Helex heeded his unspoken advice, mostly because Kaon was getting wound up for real.

“Disunity in the ranks? Tsk, tsk.”

Tarn emerged from the balcony, where he’d been quietly conversing with the medic. Pharma was gone – likely flew off, knowing him. They were still growing accustomed to seeing his face. It still felt wrong to see the livid scar underneath it, so everyone automatically adjusted their gaze to something less… odd.

“You mean healthy teasing,” Helex refuted, sensing Tarn’s good mood. He seemed more at peace nowadays, making conversation with him easier than before. “Can’t let Kaon’s helm grow too big.”

Tarn leaned against one of the columns in the room and crossed his arms. “I don’t think he sees it that way.”

“I’m still  _ here _ ,” the mech in question grumbled. “Try and remember that, maybe.”

“Where are we going next?” Kaon asked in a desperate bid to draw attention away from himself. He would spill his guts on the matter sooner or later – he eventually did – but the issue was still fresh.

Tarn, sensing the reason, allowed it. “The Majoris binary system,” he answered, “They are famous for their research on mechanical life.”

“They’re organic,” Tesarus noted from the couch.

“It can be a little trip,” Tarn shrugged.

Vicious grins spread at that. A little trip meant a nice opportunity for them to stretch their legs, pillage and loot, all the fun things. With their duty gone, they weren’t as killing as often as they liked. It rusted skills, dulled senses. Thankfully, Tarn himself was also always a little thirsty for some violence as well. A nice day-trip planetside was the perfect remedy to such things, before any of them decided to turn their attention on the populace of the warworld.

“I’ll have to prep for that,” Helex mused. Tesarus, meanwhile, groaned. This meant that he’d have to sharpen his grinder again, a time-consuming job that was as messy as it was protracted. Everyone ignored his grumbling, as usual.

“It’s a while off,” Tarn said, waving off his unit. He still thought of them as that, even though they’d left formal military hierarchy long ago. He veered away from those thoughts before he could get too caught up in them. Down that path, darkness lay.

Every so often, he dropped by. Without the proximity of the ship, he couldn’t constantly keep an optic on them. His unit was largely self-sufficient, of course, and none of them were prone to trouble, but it reassured Tarn to make these checks.

In his unit’s eyes, these trips were his way of making sure they were on their toes. Tarn’s concern was… pretty scary, actually. A concerned Tarn could just as easily decide you needed some Encouraging Affirmations or a motivating spark-lashing.

Quite unaware of his unit’s mixed feelings of dread and resignation, Tarn made his way out of the hab. As he did, however, Kaon jumped up to follow him. “I wanted to ask you about something,” he said quickly when Tarn glanced at him in question.

He followed Tarn out, ignoring the waggling ridges Helex was making at him, and kicked the door shut on his way out. He left the Pet behind – not for long, not ever for long, but maybe it could chew on Helex for a bit as revenge.

“What did you want to ask?” Tarn said when they were out. No one walked these halls, largely because this building belonged to the not-anymore-DJD and their reputation was strong even now. They all preferred it that way.

Except for Kaon, who had to make his walks of shame out of other people’s apartments because of that.

“It’s not anything big,” Kaon shrugged, rubbing his fingers together. Static electricity crackled along his orange palms. “It’s just a status report.”

Tarn glanced at him, but did not say anything. Kaon took it as the permission to continue as it was. “We’ve been here for about a decade now,” he noted. “Uh, pretty well, actually. I think we’re pretty successful in everything we’ve been doing. You know the unit’s fine, I’ve been telling you.”

“Indeed,” Tarn nodded, waiting for Kaon to get to the point. It must be important, if he needed so many words.

“It’s just that… I’m not sure about you.”

Tarn paused. Kaon sensed the danger and hastened to add, “Not that I’m saying it’s bad! But, Tarn, we’ve been working together for a long time now. I’m the longest running member, aside from you. I think that warrants a little concern, I suppose.”

Concern among them. It was novel concept, but not one they were unused to. Proximity led to such things.

Tarn placed a servo on Kaon’s shoulder, avoiding the base of his coils. “Thank you,” he said, huffing a little as he considered Kaon’s words. “Things are good, I promise you.”

Kaon reached up to place his servo on Tarn’s forearm. “I know,” he said seriously, face growing somewhat grave. “But you’re our commander, above all else. You know we’ll stick by you, Tarn, no matter what.”

Tarn’s mouth quirked up, and Kaon tried to look away from it. It still struck him as horribly awkward to see more than his optics. “I understand, Kaon,” Tarn rumbled. “Your loyalty is appreciated, more than you know. Now…”

That quirk became bigger and Kaon’s coils crackled nervously.

“…try and restrain your affections to the hab.”

Kaon could have  _ died _ .

-x-

A statue of Pharma was being erected in the plaza before the research center. Tarn considered it as he walked by it. It was… gaudy. Big. Too big, actually, and Pharma clearly had much say on it, given that it was nearly as beautiful as the mech himself. He’d certainly skimped on nothing, as the statue was composed of clean-cut white marble, polished carnelian, and lapis lazuli, and was decorated by tiny fissures of gold that made it look like it was glittering in the light.

It was ridiculous, but Tarn hadn’t been able to refuse the request. It wasn’t as if any of them were hurting for funds or excess material to work with.

So this was where his life led to. He was the commander of a warworld (“a lord,” something whispered, and he ignored it easily), commanding the thousand mecha that their forces had grown into since he took it from Deathsaurus. Pharma remained firmly at his side, a miracle that would not go away, and Tarn kept him there.

They hadn’t thought about going back to Cybertron in years. Perhaps they never would. The universe was big enough, certainly, that they could explore it for the rest of their lives and never even touch the corners of it.

Tarn was happy, believe it or not. He scarcely did himself, sometimes. It felt like he might go to recharge one day, and wake up to find it all an extended dream. Despite his dread, that moment never came. Perhaps it never would, and he could be confined to this wondrous dream until his processor rusted into nothing.

A bouquet of crystals would find their way to Pharma, as usual. Tarn liked to surprise him with such things. Sometimes a different gift – an interesting book, an unusual corpse – would find their way to him instead.

Scratch that. He wasn’t just happy.  _ They _ were happy. It remained wondrous nonetheless.

As he made his way to the tower that belonged to them, night fell. One of the perks that came with being the leader of the warworld meant that he could dictate his own day-night cycle. Tarn preferred night over day, as it let the artificial stars of the warworld come out. He liked to sit on his balcony like that, watching the false stars and sipping energon.

By the time he ascended, night had properly fallen. A thousand stars, clearer and more beautiful than anything natural, glittered down at him when he stepped out. Tarn considered it, somewhat melancholy.

What an unusual path his life had taken, certainly. Who could have guessed it?

He sipped energon.

Not he. He never would have expected this.

 

The night sky above the warworld was always a beautiful backdrop to his flights of fancy. Pharma had settled in easily, and his routine became as adaptable to his moods as Tarn himself.

The warworld was home now, to him, to Tarn, and to his new staff. They weren’t his friends, they weren’t family, but they served their purpose and they made him content by giving him what he’d needed for years; validation, admiration, and respect. What else could he need? 

Tarn was a welcome addition to his needs and Pharma made sure to show him the elegance and grace of his flight before landing on the balcony. 

“Tarn, I have splendid news.”

 

The addition of a slim jet looping through the air was a nice one. Tarn lazily watched Pharma fly, performing little tricks and shows as if he couldn’t stand to not show off for even a second. It was only after his aerial performance that Pharma alighted on the balcony, light as falling snow.

“You do?” he said, giving Pharma the opening he wanted to speak. Tarn didn’t move, watching Pharma and the stars both as he lounged.

 

Pharma enjoyed Tarn’s gaze on him and maybe he posed a little to looked better in front of his phenomenal backdrop. It was his stage, as the statue of him demonstrated, and he filled it magnificently.

“I do. I’ve worked out the differential in our spark frequencies.” He paused for dramatic effect, barely keeping the proud smile from his face.

“I can give you the sparklings you asked me for all those years ago, with no more risk to my health. All it requires is for you and I to have a bond.”

 

“You were still working on that?” Tarn looked at him properly this time, vague surprise on his face. “I thought… never mind. That’s revolutionary.”

In fact, it offered a lot of alternatives. If Pharma perfected the process, it meant a multitude of things, not just limited to suddenly not needing to recruit outside the warworld anymore. However, Tarn turned the tactical thoughts off for the evening, as that was not why he was here.

“I also have something for you.” He gestured at the small box at his side. “This is… for you.”

 

Pharma perked up immediately. He was a sucker for presents, and Tarn was quite something at gift-giving. There was always an element of unexpected thoughtfulness involved that Pharma could appreciate deeply.

“What is it?” he approached the box, wingtips fluttering with excitement. When he lifted the box, his vents hitched a little. It was intricate jewelry, beautiful in every element, but it was the material that caught his optic. The multi-faceted shades of sentient metal were unmistakable.

“Tarn...is this what I think it is?” he lifted one chain out, tempted to clip it around his neck immediately.

 

“Sentio metallico,” Tarn answered, watching Pharma put it on appreciatively. It suited him as the metal seemed to change hues to match his paint. “From my chamber.”

His expression betrayed none of the intent behind the gesture. Tarn could be like that - emotionally effusive and then blank as a wall, depending on the situation. He laced his fingers together. “It is more… permanent than anything else that I could give. Gold, silver, gems? They are all, in the end, meaningless. This, however -” he tapped his chest with a claw, “this is eternity.”

He beckoned Pharma. “Come closer.”

 

Pharma preened at the notion. Tarn had given to him as no other, and as he himself never had. He may not show it, or be fond of saying it, but gestures like these cemented that feeling Pharma remembered from their merge. The kindred spirit they’d found in each other, he would wear it for all to see. Not just because he was worthy of such dedication, but because he’d earned it.

He obliged Tarn’s command happily, stepping closer to him until they almost touched.

“I will treasure these as my own spark, Tarn.”

 

“I expect no less,” Tarn murmured. His servo on Pharma’s hip, they stood like that for a moment in silence. Tarn watched the stars reflect on Pharma’s plating before he sighed, as if finally realizing something.

“So you stayed,” he spoke, “even until now. Do you question it, sometimes? When you see everything that has happened, in such a short time.”

 

Was this a trick question? The older part of Pharma’s mind cautioned him to be suspicious of Tarn’s words, to choose his own delicately, simply because this could lead to a terrible conclusion if he said the wrong thing. Tarn was still a violent mech, a moody beast, even if he had tamed to Pharma’s hand. 

The capriciously loving part of Pharma snapped the doubts in half.

“I don’t. I decided long ago not to make decisions that don’t suit me, and everything that lead me here was necessary. I’ve finally found a place I can feel I belong, with a mech I trust.”

The pointed look to Tarn’s face should alleviate any question as to who that was.

 

He was gladdened by what Pharma had to say, but only let him know by the faint squeeze of his servo. “Trust,” he repeated ruefully, “trust, indeed. Loyalty, trust… these were not things I thought I could associate with you. Yet, I have never been more pleased to have been proven wrong.”

With a claw, he lifted one of the small chains of Pharma’s necklace briefly, before letting it drop with a  _ tink _ . “Ten years ago,” he said, “you promised me that you love me. Is that still true?”

 

Ah, here was that word again. Pharma had used it, yes, ten years ago, to bring Tarn back from the brink of an existential crisis. It hadn’t made a huge impact then, and Tarn had never questioned it since, but it still stuck around in Pharma’s mind.

Love, to him, meant acceptance. Not of another, but by another, of him. Pharma’s life had grown crowded with people that despised him. Whether it was envy or a lack of understanding, he’d become lonely long before he was isolated on Messatine. His best friend had turned his back on him, his admirers had died out or tried for his life. Pharma had grown dependent on none, and in consequence, cold, very cold.

But with someone like Tarn...there was no need to hide behind facades of compassion, or provide shame for his dark and destructive urges. Tarn encouraged and rewarded every violent idea, he praised Pharma for his arrogance and rightful pride. It was...soothing. It had sucked up all thoughts of revenge, because Pharma had found someone he could love, without being anything lesser than he was.

So his answer was clear.

“It is, and I do. As much as I never expected it to be, with you or anyone else.”

 

Tarn had been expecting such words, but also not, at the same time. They’d never discussed it since then, leaving it as the desperate words of someone trying to revive a mech in the grips of his mind, and somehow managed to successfully dance around the topic with impeccable skill. Now, however, Tarn felt that he ought to address like he should have years prior.

“Good,” he said, then fell silent for a moment, mulling over his words. Pharma had all but promised everything to him, be it his skills, his life, or his thoughts. The sneaking doubt that Pharma was lying, that Pharma was tricking him, slowly withered away without the proof to feed it.

“Then I should confess that you, through guile, intellect, and the terrible nature of your character, have managed to trap me in the net as you.” Tarn pulled Pharma closer to sit on his lap, back to his chest. “You are a wicked creature, Pharma of Iacon. I can only love you for it.”

Tarn settled back against his seat, once more looking out to the blinking artificial stars. “So stay with me a while, and let us watch these stars together. I can have no finer company, nor a more satisfying conclusion.” 

 

It was possibly the sweetest thing Tarn had ever lavished upon him with his voice alone, and Pharma practically nestled in his lap, leaning against that overly warm chassis with a pleased sigh. It was a topic that the two of them had needed to get into the open for a while, and yet, it had only come about now, ten years after what Pharma would describe as a crisis in their time together.

But now, they ruled a warworld, they never needed to set pede on Cybertron ever again, and they could find a measure of happiness in their freedom. It was an odd concept, this semi-peaceful existence together. Pharma didn’t miss their games, because now, they could play them together, on other victims. Their verbal bouts could become competitions of dissection and torture, respectively, topped off with the inevitable interfacing they’d both long for after such thrills. Nothing kept them apart and that was better than the eternal distrust they’d made their reality from the day they met.

Pharma was happy, and that was something he’d thought impossible.

“No, you could not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't this fucking wholesome?!!
> 
> Alternate Storyline coming soon :D


End file.
